


Scars That Bind

by suilven



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-28
Updated: 2012-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-31 21:15:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 67,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/348436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suilven/pseuds/suilven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neve Tabris has come to Vigil's Keep, struggling to put the heartbreak of the last few months behind her. But, the past cannot be denied, and its echoes will change and shape them all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Broken Dreams

**Chapter 1 – Broken Dreams**

Neve stared at the canopy of fabric that hung over the bed. She forced her gaze to follow the loops and whorls of the folds as she traced along them with her eyes. This was her room now, the Warden Commander's room, although few of the room's contents were actually hers—not that it mattered much. What little she had brought with her from Denerim had already been unpacked and tucked away. Her tent and rucksack, repaired more times than she could remember, were stowed in the corner.

She ran through all of the body's pressure points with a light touch against each one. She counted the towns between here and Orzammar. She concentrated on making each intake of breath as even as the last. The light from the moon inched its way across the floor.

With a sigh, she shifted to ease the ache from where the Archdemon's claws had almost torn her in two, a trio of thick, ribbon-like scars still etched across her skin. She couldn't bring herself to stretch out into the empty chasm on the other side of the bed, so she brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them like a flower waiting for spring. A gentle patter of rain danced against the windows, endless tears lingering on the glass. It had been raining since she had arrived at Vigil's Keep a few weeks earlier. She closed her eyes and held on, but sleep didn't come for her until the first blush of dawn crept over the edge of the sky.

oOoOo

_The horizon was a burning red against the boundless black. Neve struggled to move, but she was pinned down by something monstrous and heavy. The roof beneath her was hot and slippery and she strained to draw a breath in the acrid air. The Archdemon's head was crushing her, grinding her into the stone. Drops of dark ichor dripped onto her arm and each heavy bead burned her skin with a sizzling hiss. Blood bubbled from the gashes on her side. It was done. Her eyes slipped closed._

" _Neve?" Alistair's voice was hoarse._

_She opened her eyes as he crouched down beside her. His hair was damp and matted with blood, his face covered with smudges of ash._

" _I killed it." She had to concentrate to speak. He seemed so far away, like she was watching him from underwater._

" _I know."_

" _Then, why am I still alive?"_

_Confusion played across her face. His eyes gave him away in the split second before he turned his head._

_He had done it, after all. Everything he'd said was a lie._

" _You promised," she whispered._

" _I know. I just couldn't let you die. Not if there was a way for me to save you." He looked back at her. His tears carved tracks down his cheeks._

" _I didn't want to be saved." Her words made Alistair flinch as though she had slapped him. The lump forming in her throat was rough and raw._

_He stood up and stared at her, his lips tightened into a thin line. "Yes, well… I didn't want to be king."_

_He walked away without a backwards glance and didn't return. Neve lay there, listening to the faint sucking sound of her breathing. She wiggled her fingers just to see if she could. Maybe she would die here, anyway._

_There was a sudden movement above her and she groaned as the weight lifted from her shattered body. The Archdemon raised its head and appraised her, its dull dead eyes like bulging eggs of onyx. Her sword still protruded from its skull but it staggered to its feet and buffeted its tattered wings. The broken head lolled to one side, fractured bones crunching with sickening snaps. It scraped her up from the stone—she was blind with agony—and gathered her into its claw before lurching into the air. Shocks of pain arced through her like lightning as its grip tightened, and she screamed. Her raw, guttural cry echoed over the ruined buildings below._

_There were crowds of people in the Denerim marketplace. They stood, oblivious, amidst the putrid mounds of decaying darkspawn, cheering for their saviour, for the Hero of Ferelden. The Archdemon dipped down low as they entered the central open area, but there were no screams of terror, only looks of disgust and loathing._

" _The Hero's a knife-ear?" came the first clear cry over the murmurs of disquiet._

" _Fucking elves, won't stay in the Alienage where they belong."_

_Neve flushed with shame. They were throwing things now, rubble and garbage and who knew what else from the piles at their feet._

_She saw him, and a shiver of dread scuttled like a spider down her spine. His blond hair drew her eye like a beacon, his tender mouth curled up in a fierce sneer of hate. She barely registered the stone he hurtled towards her until her head snapped back with the impact and blood pulsed in thick, crimson rivulets down her cheek. Neve licked her lips and the taste of bitter iron flooded her palate._

_The great dragon circled once more over the crowd and she shut her eyes. They still burned from the greasy smoke billowing over the remains of Denerim. The taunts and shouts grew muted and faded into the distance. The Archdemon's claws bit into her flesh without mercy, but Neve was too weary to care. She sagged in its crushing embrace, lulled into slumber as it flew onward, leaving the city behind._

_She awoke with a start—how long had she been asleep? A forest of tall pines stretched out below her with a thin road snaking through them. Ominous grey clouds, pregnant with rain, hung overhead and the moist air made her parched mouth ache. Her tongue tasted like ashes. They were dropping lower and soon the bristling tips of the trees were almost close enough to touch. The dragon pulled in its wings and plummeted, the road rising to meet them, and she didn't bother to brace herself for the impact._

_The great fist released her and she tumbled the last few feet and landed in the mud, unable to think, unable to breathe. There was only anguish. The Archdemon wheeled upward and roared, shattering the stillness of the forest. She watched it disappear over the trees, its broken wings carrying it away as the first drops of rain began to fall._

_Neve forced herself to her feet, a tortuous dance in slow motion until, at last, she stood mostly upright. She shuffled down the road, her pace slow and faltering. The slant of the rain made it difficult to see, but she could make out something, no, some_ one _, up ahead. She pushed herself to move faster, the lone figure in the distance beckoning her irresistibly forward. It was a woman clad in heavy armor, her dark hair sodden and slick. There was something familiar about her, but… not right. Icy tendrils of fear crept through her belly. The woman was still, her head bowed low against the onslaught of the storm._

" _Hello?" Neve ventured._

_The figure lifted her head with a jerk and Neve took a step back. The woman's eyes were a milky white and blood pooled in her mouth, dribbling down her chin before being rinsed away in the downpour. It was Mhairi… the flash of recognition hit her as a clap of thunder shook the air. The thing pitched forward, somehow able to see, and grabbed Neve's arm in its clenching grasp._

" _You killed me…"_

_Neve tried to pull back, but Mhairi held her in place with a snarl._

" _I didn't—I didn't kill you," Neve said. "The cost of the Joining—"_

" _You could have warned me. But you didn't. The Wardens are all about secrets, aren't they? Secrets and lies…" She leaned in closer as she spoke and the hard splatter of the rain almost drowned out her words._

_Neve threw her weight back as she struggled to free her arm, but Mhairi just laughed, a cold and keening cry escaping from her lips._

" _You're good at getting people killed, aren't you? You've done this before…"_

_Neve's body went numb and her stomach heaved. Escape. She had to escape. Now._

_She bent over and bit down on the hand imprisoning her with a fury. The sour flesh gave way under her teeth and Mhairi cursed. There was no hesitation—Neve turned and ran._

_Her injuries threatened to overwhelm her, but fear and adrenaline propelled her onward, gasping and choking as her exhausted muscles screamed for air. The mud pulled at her feet, making her stumble, and gouts of red streamed from the gashes on her side. She fell forward and landed roughly on her knees. She crawled now, her progress measured by the span of her hands, until she slumped over. She was defeated and the cold rain washed her away._

oOoOo

Neve sat up with a startled cry. She leaned back against the headboard, unable to stop trembling as her heart threatened to burst from her chest. The tears in her eyes spilled over and she scoured them away with the back of her hand. She willed herself to draw in several heaving breaths. As the force of the dream trickled away, she realized that room was already vibrant with sunlight. Shit. She was probably already late for her meeting with Varel and she wasn't even dressed yet. Maybe she could save some time and skip breakfast? Her stomach voiced its displeasure at the idea as she flipped back the covers.

She pulled on the pieces of her leather armor, years of habit helped her nimble fingers buckle and tighten without thought. Neve ran her fingers along the flat blades of her daggers and sheathed them while offering a silent prayer to Duncan. It was her private ritual, a remembrance for the man who had saved her from death in the slums of the Alienage. They had been his, once, before she rescued them from his body after the slaughter at Ostagar. She liked to think that he would approve, his soul appeased by the darkspawn she butchered with his blades.

Neve studied herself in the mirror that hung in the attached bathing chamber. The shadows under her eyes were a deep purple—not much she could do about that. The freckles on her nose and cheeks had faded over the winter, ghosts that would rise again in the summer sun. She poured some water into the washbasin and rinsed her hands and face. She didn't bother drying her hands and rubbed them across her scalp until her short brown hair bristled all over her head like a hedgehog's prickles. Better. She squared her shoulders and headed down to the main hall to see about breakfast. She was the Commander. Varel could wait for a few more minutes.

When she arrived in the entranceway, everyone else was already eating. Oghren, Anders, and Nathaniel were all shoveling food into their mouths like starving alley cats unsure of their next meal. She crossed the room and Anders gave her a smooth smile. His blond hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail and a gold earring gleamed in his ear. "Morning," he said. His eyes drifted down her body with the briefest glance.

"Morning, sorry I'm late."

Nathaniel gave her a curt nod and continued to glower into his plate. He had scarcely spoken more than two words to her since his Joining. Recruiting him might have been a mistake, but his skill with a bow was beyond anyone she had ever seen. The Wardens needed him. They were too few as it was.

"You look like shit, Commander." Oghren belched and shoved another sausage into his mouth. The dwarf's red beard was a battlefield of breakfast debris.

"Likewise, Oghren." She pulled out the chair next to him and sat down. "Pass me some of that bread, would you?"

Nathaniel stared at her. "You let him speak to you like that?" So, he could talk after all.

Neve dumped some eggs on her plate. "Sure. I'd rather you spoke your mind."

"That might take me some time to get used to. They were… somewhat stricter in the Free Marches."

"Just don't bullshit me and we'll be fine." She smiled at him, and then jammed her mouth full of food.

Anders snickered.

"Good to know," Nathaniel said. He scrutinized her for a moment longer, and then returned his gaze to his plate.

Anders heaved a sigh and leaned back in his chair. "So, what's the plan for today?"

Varel walked into the room, his arms overburdened with papers. His eyes brightened as he spotted her. "Ah, Commander! I'm glad to see that you're up. We have a lot to cover this morning."

Neve swallowed her mouthful. "Of course. Why don't you put those in the office— _my_  office. I'll be there shortly." She crammed the rest of her food in her mouth, barely pausing to breathe. She noticed Anders staring at her with a bemused expression on his face. "Wha'?" she managed to get out.

"Nothing… I'm still not used to seeing a woman eat like that, I guess. You're tiny! Where does it all go?"

"Get used to it, Sparkle-fingers," Oghren said. "You should see what she looks like when she's  _really_  hungry."

She stood up and wiped the crumbs from her mouth. "You," she pointed at Anders, "can piss off. And you," she swiveled to turn her glare on Oghren, "can go fuck yourself."

Anders tensed—Nathaniel looked downright petrified—but Oghren guffawed and Anders relaxed with a grin.

"Good one, boss. C'mon, you two," Oghren said. "Training yard."

Anders groaned.

"I'm sure you'll be having more fun than I will," she said. "I want to take care of that darkspawn infestation in the basement after lunch, so try not to hurt them too badly, Oghren." She gave them all a wicked grin and strolled off to find Varel.

oOoOo

It was early evening when Oghren marched up to the Commander's door and knocked.

"Come in," she called and he opened the door.

Neve was curled up like a baby nug in one of the large, plush chairs that were shoved into the far corner of her bedroom. A book lay open in her lap and she glanced up at him after sliding a slip of paper between the pages to mark her place.

"What can I do for you? Are we out of ale? Did you want to talk about mabari chariots again?" She gave him a half smile that didn't reach her eyes.

He sighed. He was no good at this talking stuff. At least with killing and drinking, you always knew where you stood.

"We need to talk. I meant what I said this morning."

"About…"

She was playing dumb, and not doing it very well. "Nice try, you look you've been tapping the midnight still—and not in the good way. You still taking those potions that Wynne gave you?"

Her eyes were wary. "How do you know about those?"

"She told me before I left. Thought someone should be keeping an eye on you."

"I don't need someone to look after me, Oghren."

"Oh, sod it, I'm not trying to meddle. I just… Look, I know what it was like when Branka left me to go look for that blasted Anvil, all right?" He wiped his hands on his trousers. "'Course, she didn't dump me in front of everyone like the little pike-twirler did to you, but still—"

Neve slammed her book down on the side table next to her chair. "If you're quite finished," she said, "you can show yourself out any time."

Great, he was making things worse. Why couldn't Leliana have been here to do this?

"Bah. Okay, I've made a sodding mess of it. It's none of my business."

"You're right. It's not."

He gave his beard a thorough and prolonged scratch. "You wanna come down for a drink, then?"

The frost in her eyes receded a little. "I don't think I'd be much company, but thanks, anyway."

"Come on. You can watch me fleece Sparkle-fingers at Diamondback."

"I appreciate the offer, but I don't think getting drunk is really going to help."

He chortled. "No, but it will make you feel better. Come on." Then he grabbed her arm and heaved her out of the chair.

"I don't know…" She was actually considering it. That had to be a good sign.

"Hey, if you're not going to sleep, anyway, wouldn't you rather have a  _good time_  not sleeping? You know, I've been told that I'm just the right height to show a human—or an elf—a very good time." He waggled his eyebrows up and down.

She made a face at him. "Will you promise to leave me alone if I come down for a while? No more night-time visits to lecture me?"

"Ancestor's honor." He placed his hand over his heart.

"Fine, but I'm not drinking myself into a stupor. That's still your job."

"Is that an order from my commanding officer? I accept! Heh!"

Maybe he wasn't so bad at this talking stuff, after all.

oOoOo

They had been playing for hours—some game of Anders' where the loser of each hand had to take a shot of some foul smelling spirits that Oghren had produced. Neve struggled to stay in her chair, but her balance was off somehow. She gulped her drink and slammed the glass down onto the table. It had an earthy, fungal smell, but a strange aftertaste of rotten mutton. Where did Oghren find this stuff, anyway? Hopefully, this one wasn't made with fermented lichen… that one had left her throwing up for days, and she'd only swallowed a mouthful.

"Whose turn is it to deal?" she asked. Her head was propped up in her hand to keep her from toppling over.

"Mine… I think?" Anders reached for the cards and missed. "Oops." He giggled, and then tried again without success. "I don't think my eyes are working."

"You surfacers can't hold your liquor worth a damn, you know that, right?" Oghren stretched across the table and placed the deck of cards in Anders' hand.

"Hey! I got them!"

"Commander?"

Neve squinted up into the seneschal's face. His features looked… blurry. When had Varel come in? Or, had he been here the entire time? She couldn't remember… "Varel?"

"I'm sorry, Commander. I know this isn't the best time." He studied her with a hint of pity. "It's just that the, um… well, the king is here."

"The king?"

He nodded with an apologetic bob.

"Huh. Well. Fuck me."

She passed out, and her head hit the table with a reverberating thunk.


	2. Wounded

**Chapter 2 –Wounded**

Her head was being attacked by an ogre and it was ramming her with its horns over and over again. Her mouth was sticky and bitter—what had she eaten? No… what did she drink? Chunks of memory were coming back now. Cards. Anders. Oghren's mystery swill. She groaned and threw her arm up over her eyes to block the light. She was never drinking again, especially not with that wretched dwarf. This was all his fault. But, there was something else… something else important. Neve tried to remember, but thinking was making her head pound even harder. At least she didn't think she was going to throw up. Not yet, anyway.

"Are you awake?"

She froze as the last piece slid into place. The king had arrived and now he was here, in her room. Sweet merciful fuck. She shifted her arm a fraction and opened her eyes. He had pulled one of the chairs over from the corner and was sitting next to the bed. His hair and clothes were disheveled and a huge bruise covered one eye.

"Why—you here?" she managed to get out. It was a struggle to speak; her lips and tongue were as dry as parchment. Her heart contracted with a sharp squeeze as she looked at him.

"Here, take this first." He pulled the stopper from a small glass vial and tried to hand it to her.

She made no move to take it. "What—is?" Her mouth was thick like porridge. This was so fucking humiliating.

"It's a restorative draught apparently. Courtesy of that new mage you recruited."

She searched his eyes, there was nothing malicious there. His face was covered in several days' worth of stubble. She couldn't remember ever seeing him so scruffy and unkempt—even during their desperate months on the road during the Blight, he had used his dagger every morning to shave, his shield propped up as a makeshift mirror.

Hauling herself into a sitting position was a monumental effort. He held out the vial and waited, watching her, but at least he didn't try to help. Her cheeks burned red and it took all her restraint to keep from pulling the covers up over her head and staying there until he left. Her hands trembled as she took the vial from him and he gave her a small, sad smile.

Neve took a long swallow and grimaced at the taste. Her throat tingled, the sensation trickling down into her stomach. After a moment, the ogre took one last swing at her head, and then retreated. Her face relaxed and the rest of the room seemed to come fully into focus. This stuff was fantastic. Alistair had leaned forward in his chair and was fiddling with the edge of her blanket.

Her eyes narrowed. "Why are you here?"

"I, uh, I wanted to talk to you."

"I don't think there's much for us to discuss, do you? You've made yourself perfectly clear."

She struggled to pull herself together, despite the indignity of it all. She was  _not_  having this conversation while lying in bed. She shoved the covers back and prayed that she was still dressed since she didn't even remember coming upstairs. She stood up and stumbled forward, but he jerked up and reached out to steady her.

"Neve, please don't—"

"I'm fine," she said and pushed away from his touch. "I'm sorry, your Majesty, I wasn't expecting you to show up in the middle of the night." She walked past him to the far side of the room.

"Please, don't call me that. I would have—"

"Was there something in particular that you needed?" Her voice was calm and detached, but her hands had clenched into tight fists.

"I just… I just needed to talk to you."

She whirled to face him and he recoiled. The ridges of her knuckles had gone white. "You want to talk to me? You want to talk to me? You had three  _months_  to talk to me while I was still in Denerim, but I didn't see you once outside of those horrible parties that Eamon made me go to. Even then, you didn't say a word to me aside from all that phony small talk we were expected to make! I don't know why you suddenly feel like we should have a nice cozy heart-to-heart, but I'm really not in the mood."

Her whole body was shaking and he drooped under the weight of her anger, so like the naïve Chantry boy he had been when they first met.

"I suppose I deserved that." He raised his head to meet her eyes. "I wanted to talk to you. I missed you," he whispered. "I was just afraid of making things worse."

"Worse?" She almost laughed. "Worse? Do you really think you could have made it any worse?" All the hurt that she had kept bottled up inside came pouring out in a rush. "You told me you loved me until I actually believed you. I thought you were different. I certainly didn't think you were going to tear my heart to fucking pieces in front of everyone before you sulked off and left me to face them all by myself."

She paced back and forth across the room.

"And then," she threw her hands up, "you went off and fucked Morrigan even though we had both agreed that it was an unthinkable option. Who knows what kind of abomination you've unleashed on the world? Something else for me to take care of for you later, I suppose."

She strode up to him with a defiant stare. Angry tears spilled down across her cheeks.

"I killed the bloody Archdemon, was practically torn in half, and you didn't bother to come by even  _once_  while I was recovering. I was relieved when I got the orders from Weisshaupt to come here so I wouldn't have to see you anymore, and now you're here." She poked him in the chest. "Why won't you just leave me alone?"

"I tried. That's… That's what I was trying to do." He was crying, too.

"Then why are you here?"

"Because… I'm still in love with you."

"You fucking bastard," she said and struck him across the face. "How dare you?"

He didn't move but held her gaze, his face full of anguish. Her limited control was crumbling.

"I loved you, you asshole," she was sobbing now, "and you just threw it all away like it was nothing."

She stalked away from him with her arms clutched around her chest, her shoulders heaving. The primal sound of her grief sunk into the pit of his stomach with a lurch. It drew him towards her until he was standing right behind her. He lifted his hands up as if to touch her shoulders, hesitated, and then dropped them back to his sides.

"Neve, I'm sorry."

"Please… please, just go." Each word came out as a gasp.

"I can't."

She turned her head around to look at him. "Why?" A tear rolled down the tip of her nose.

"Because I can't live without you."

She turned her back to him once more. "Then, you're an idiot."

"Oh, I think you've made that abundantly clear."

They both fell silent. The sounds of Neve struggling to muffle her choked sobs echoed in the stillness of the room. Alistair's own tears coursed noiselessly down his cheeks. He wiped them away and took a deep shuddering breath.

"After the Landsmeet, I… panicked. It's stupid, I knew that you were going to put me forward for the throne, but I just didn't want to believe it. I was angry—at you, at Arl Eamon. You know I never wanted this. But, what I wanted… didn't matter anymore."

She heard him run his hand through his hair, an unconscious gesture she remembered well.

"I wanted you—only you—as my queen but it just wasn't possible. Even if we could get the nobles to accept you, we can't have… children." The final word dropped from his lips like a teardrop. "I would love to have had—more than anything…" His voice cracked and he couldn't continue.

Neve wiped her face on her sleeve and sniffled. Guilt oozed through her, thick and viscous, settling down into her bones. He was alone, lost and miserable, and  _she_  had done this to him. She could have left Anora on the throne but, no matter how hard she had tried to rationalize it, leaving that double-crossing bitch spawn of Loghain as queen would have been a mistake. Ferelden needed him. If only she hadn't needed him too…

"I tried to stay away from you. I thought it would be easier, for both of us, if I just pushed you away. I—I couldn't face you, knowing how I treated you, and every day that passed just made it harder and harder." He was silent for a moment. "Do you hate me?"

She didn't say anything for a long time. "No," she said, "I don't hate you."

Alistair took a step closer and his chest brushed against her back. She could smell the musky scent of the soap he always used and she almost dropped to her knees, overwhelmed by the sudden rush of memory, the first time that she had buried herself in his embrace. Her legs shook. He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer. Neve stiffened with a wince as his arms tightened across her, but didn't push him away. The warmth of his body was so sweet and familiar that she ached. It would be so easy to just give in… if only the reality of their situation wasn't so bloody complicated. She leaned back against him with a sigh, empty now that her anger was spent.

"What do you want from me, Alistair?"

"I just want to be with you, in whatever way we can—a few stolen moments of happiness to keep me from going crazy. I don't know. Maybe coming here was a mistake. Maybe I should have just stayed away. But, I just couldn't do it anymore..."

Her body grew still, an assassin lying in wait. "So, you want me to be your mistress?"

"Please, don't say it like that. It wouldn't be like that."

"No? So what happens once Eamon marries you off to some empty-headed inbred so you can start making lots of babies to keep the nobles happy? What happens to me then?"

"I don't know." His shoulders slumped. "Maker, I know this is all a mess. I just want to hold on to every chance we have to be together, even if it can never be in the way we want."

He was quiet for a long time. "I just—I just need you. You're the only thing that makes sense to me anymore. Please."

She untangled his hands from her waist and turned to face him. Tears were trailing down his jaw and she smoothed them away with her fingers. "I need some time to think," she said. "When do you have to go back to Denerim?"

"I don't know, uh, tomorrow, I think."

"I'll try to give you some sort of answer before you go. But, I don't know if it's going to be the one you want."

"That's all I can ask for." He reached for her hand and placed a soft kiss on her palm. She trembled.

"Alistair…" She pulled her hand back.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"

She shook her head. "It's okay." She scrubbed her face against her sleeve and ran her fingers over her hair. "Look, I'll get you set up in the room next door. Why don't you go get something to eat, have a bath, get some sleep? You look awful." She rang for Varel. While they waited, she studied him, half expecting that she was about to wake up. "What happened to your eye, anyway?"

"Oghren. We had a rather physical discussion about my coming here to see you." He ran his fingers over the mottled purple bruise. "He made his point rather well, I think."

There was a cautious knock at the door and Neve stepped out into the hallway. She was startled by the guards outside her door—Alistair's guards. When had everything gotten so crazy? After explaining to Varel what the king needed, pointedly ignoring the questions in his eyes, it was a relief to shut the door behind both of them. Finally alone, she curled herself into the closest chair, and wept.


	3. Indecision

**Chapter 3 - Indecision**

It was early afternoon before she stirred. Her head ached with tears, a dull throb pulsing behind her eyes. No matter how she tried to think it all through, she always seemed to end up circling around the same points with no resolution in sight. With a sigh of disgust, Neve rose to her feet and stalked across the room. This was getting her nowhere. She was pent up and antsy, a bubbling pot ready to boil over. Maybe a few rounds in the training yard would help clear her mind—

A hard knock on the door jolted her out of her thoughts.

"Come in," she said, forcing her voice steady.

Anders entered, juggling a huge tray overloaded with food.

The sight of it made her suddenly realize that she was ravenous. "Here, let me," she said, and took the tray from him before it toppled over.

He smoothed down the front of his robes and studied her, his forehead crinkling. "Wow, you look even worse than yesterday."

"Gee, thanks." She looked at him disparagingly, and then placed the tray down on the low table near the windows.

Anders glanced around the room curiously before giving her a small smile. "We thought you might be hungry. Well, Varel did, anyway."

"Why are you here, then? Did you draw the short straw or something?"

He flushed, the palest pink colouring his cheeks, and his gaze shifted away for a split second. "Um, do I have to answer that?"

Neve snorted. "You did, didn't you?"

"Maybe."

"Well, tell Varel that I appreciate him thinking of me. And you, too, by the way. That magic hangover juice of yours is amazing."

"I'm glad it helped. You were pretty out of it last night. I tried to help, but the king… uh… kicked me out."

They lapsed into a floundering silence. Anders picked at a loose thread in his robes.

"Right… well…" She cleared her throat and searched for something to say that wasn't 'I'm sorry you had to put up with me getting totally shit-faced, screaming at the King of Ferelden, and then holing up in my room.' Finally, inspiration struck. "Can you let everyone know that we'll be heading into Amaranthine tomorrow after the king leaves?"

"Amaranthine?" Anders perked up. "How long do you think we're going to be there?"

"Well, it's almost a full day's travel from here on horseback, so we'll probably spend at least one or two nights there. I have to look into something for Varel and I'd like to get a feel for the city." He was nodding slowly, only half-listening. Neve raised an eyebrow. "Why? Have you got a girl there or something you want to see?"

"Hmm? No, no, of course not." He gave her a smile that would have melted the smalls off most women.

She couldn't help snorting again. "Yeah, right, whatever you say. Anyway, thanks for the food. Now, if you don't mind…" She gestured towards the door.

"Right, sorry. You need anything else?"

"No thanks, Anders. I'll see you tomorrow."

He gave her a rakish half-bow. "Commander," he said, and he closed the door behind him.

She devoured all the food he had brought before heading into the bathing chamber and dousing her head in cold water. No more brooding for now. She rubbed her hair and face dry and pulled on her armor, the familiarity of the action a soothing embrace. Daggers sheathed, Neve stepped into the hallway. Alistair's guards swiveled at the sound of her door opening, but she purposefully strolled past them without a glance. She didn't pass anyone else on the way down to the training yard; the Keep was unusually quiet. Anders was probably in the library, but she didn't bother to stick her head in to check as she walked past. The yard was deserted as well, no Oghren or Nathaniel, which was strange. Apparently, everyone was doing their best to avoid her today. Probably wise.

Neve pushed everything out of her mind with a practiced ease as she drew her blades, focused on the straw targets ahead of her. For over an hour, she whirled through her paces, routines ingrained into her so many years ago that she could do them without thought. Her side twinged with pain, but she continued relentlessly. Only when she was panting with exertion, sweat burning as it ran into her eyes, did she let up. She cleaned her weapons carefully before walking back up to her room and doing the same with her armor. Alistair's room was still closed and silent when she made her way downstairs to her office.

She sat down with a sigh and randomly flipped through the papers that Varel had attempted to go through with her yesterday. What was she supposed to with all of this? After a half-hearted attempt at understanding the first few she picked up, she decided to just sort them for now. It would still be doing  _something,_  at least. She created a pile for correspondences with Weisshaupt, a pile for correspondences with Orlais, a pile for household accounts, and piles for everything else she could think of until heaps of papers were spread out everywhere, an impenetrable bastion of parchment. Unfortunately, the 'no fucking idea what to do with these' pile was significantly larger than any of the others.

From there, she tried to make a list of their assets, but the ledgers that Howe had kept were completely indecipherable to her. Her head was beginning to throb again and she leaned back in her chair with a long stretch. Maybe she could just quietly set it all on fire? No, Varel would never buy it. The more she tried to make the numbers make sense, the more it all began to blur together into some sort mathematical sludge. She couldn't do this. Why had she accepted this stupid position, anyway? How could they have thought that she could run a keep? She pushed back her chair and massaged her neck.

"Commander? Can I bother you for a minute?" Nathaniel stood in the open doorway, his typical frown not as deep as usual. He had seemed… lighter, somehow, since she had given him that old bow that they had found in the basement yesterday.

"Sure, come in and grab a chair." Neve scooped up the pile of papers from one of the chairs and dumped them on the floor. They hit the ground with a satisfying thump.

His eyebrows rose slightly as he took in the state of the office before sitting down. "Anders said that we were going to Amaranthine tomorrow, and I was wondering if it would be possible for me to make a… personal visit."

"Seriously? Do you people all have girlfriends in the city or something?"

"What? No! I meant my sister." He grew quiet. "I thought she died during the Blight. I had no idea that she was still alive until Samuel told me."

"Samuel?" She mentally ran through faces until she placed him. "He's the groundskeeper?"

Nathaniel nodded. "Delilah's in Amaranthine, now. Married a merchant."

"Of course you can go see her while we're there. Did you honestly think I would say no?"

"I didn't want to presume." The corners of his mouth turned up in a tiny smile–the biggest she had ever seen from him.

"I'll tell you what. You can make it up to me. How are you with sums?" She leaned forward across the desk and handed him one of the ledgers. "Can you make any sense of these?"

He flipped the book open to a random page and ran his finger down one of the columns. "Sure. What do you need to know?"

She could have kissed him. Seriously thrown him against the wall and fucked him senseless. He looked up at her, puzzled, and then vaguely alarmed, by her expression. She laughed. "Nathaniel, you are hereby conscripted to spend the rest of the afternoon with me sorting through this disaster." She waved her hand at the mounds of paper littering the desk and the floor and the chairs. "I, no,  _we_  need to figure out how much money we have and pray that it's going to be enough to continue paying all the staff here plus cover all the repair work that the Keep needs."

He took in the blizzard of papers everywhere with a resigned look.

She rubbed her hands together. "So, where do you want to start?"

oOoOo

By the end of the afternoon, she and Nathaniel had managed to draw up a basic list outlining their expenses and current assets. There were still stacks of paper everywhere, but at least they had made some sort of progress to appease Varel. Nathaniel's quiet company had helped keep her thoughts from straying, but now that she was alone once more, they descended on her like a pack of wolves. Halfway to the main hall, she stopped and turned instead to go through the back passages to the kitchen.

"Good afternoon, Gerta."

The cook had her back to the doorway and was stirring the contents of a huge pot. The warm smell of baking bread filled the kitchen, fragrant and comforting. Gerta turned around abruptly. "Oh! Commander Tabris! What can we get you?" She roughly wiped her hands on her apron. The cook was short and sinewy, too little skin stretched over too many bones, and her black hair, peppered with silver, was secured in a tight bun at the nape of her neck.

Neve smiled. "Can you please make sure that you send a dinner tray up to his Majesty's room?"

She nodded, her eyes dropping to the floor. "Yes, Seneschal Varel told us already."

"He did?" Damn, that man was good. "Great. Thank you." The poor woman still looked like she was expecting to be beaten. "Also, if it's not too much trouble, can I get a tray for myself as well? I'll take it now if everything is ready."

"Of course, Commander." Gerta looked relieved to have something to do and bustled around the kitchen gathering fruit, bread, and cheese before ladling out a bowl of stew, brown and meaty with large chunks of carrots and potatoes. She handed Neve the tray, her hands shaking almost imperceptibly. "Here you are, Commander. Is there anything else I can do?"

"Can you ask Alys to come up and fill the tub when she has a chance? If it's not too much trouble…"

"It's no trouble at all. I'll let her know as soon as she's back down."

"Thank you so much. I don't know what we'd do without you."

Gerta blushed, a full glowing red from the top of her head and down her chest, and bobbed down in a small almost-curtsy. "You're too kind, Commander."

It made Neve almost cringe in embarrassment.

Neve balanced the full tray, careful to keep her stew from slopping everywhere, and headed up the back stairs to her quarters. She held her breath as she walked past Alistair's room, releasing it when she had successfully closed her own door behind her.

She dove into her meal enthusiastically and had nearly finished when Alys arrived to fill the bathtub. She was an elf, like most of the staff here, with the exception of Gerta, Varel, and a handful of others. She never spoke, but held herself with a quiet ferocity that Neve admired. She scurried back and forth with hot water from the kitchens, a long and arduous process that Neve hoped to rectify soon. When they had been in Orzammar, the tubs there could be filled just by touching the runes carved in the bottom of them. At her insistence, Voldrik had already added it to his growing list of repairs, which she now knew they were going to have a tough time paying for. At last, Alys poured in the last bucket, and then gathered up the empty trays before curtseying herself out of the room.

Neve undressed and climbed into the tub. She relaxed deep into the heat of the water and leaned her head back against the side. What was she going to do? If only Rel was still… She swallowed tightly against the lump forming in her throat. It was hard not to feel like a child, wanting to fall kicking and screaming to the floor over the unfairness of it all.

Losing Rel had been like losing a limb, sometimes it was hard to shake the feeling that she was right there if she could just turn her head fast enough to catch her, a hint of laughter that faded when she tried to listen for it. Grief crawled out of her chest, a scavenger feasting on her heart, and a savage sob tore from her throat. Why her? Why did it have to be her? One by one, she had lost them all. She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her head against them as her body shook with anguish.

When she finally stilled, she swore she could almost hear Rel's voice, the ghost of a whisper in her ear.

" _Not all of us, Nivs. He came back."_

Yes, Alistair had come back… but for how long? He had been willing to cast her aside before thanks to that fuckwit, Eamon. Did she really trust him to not do it again? He was going to be married off to some noble to have the family he had always craved. Where would she be then? Would she be able to let him go?

Neve lingered in the tub, unwilling to move, until the water had chilled enough to be uncomfortable. Dusk was settling on the room in a muted wash of colour as she dried herself off and threw on a loose linen shirt and trousers. She walked down the hall to Oghren's room, but there was no answer when she knocked. Damn. She headed downstairs to the main hall and was relieved to find him alone, nursing a huge mug of ale.

"Commander," he said as she pulled out a chair and sat down next to him.

"You got a minute?"

"Sure, what's on your mind?"

She rubbed the top of the table absently with her fingers before she turned her gaze on him. It was another moment before she spoke. "If Branka had come back, would you have gone back to her?"

"Yeah, probably." Oghren took a large gulp and belched. "Branka and me, we just… had something together. Might not have been the smart thing to do, but I would've done it, anyway." He looked at her thoughtfully. "You and the little pike-twirler, eh?"

"Yeah."

"Does he want you back in Denerim? As the queen?"

She looked down at the table. "No."

"I see." He stood up and drew her a mug from the large keg. "Here." Then he plunked the mug down in front of her.

Neve took a long swallow. "We… can't. The Landsmeet won't accept me and it would take a miracle for us to have a child together. Ferelden needs an heir, preferably more than one, or there'll be another civil war when Alistair dies." She took another swig of her ale. "Unfortunately, we already know when that's likely to be."

Oghren grunted. "But, he wants you back. So, you would just be, uh, on the side, as it were? "

"Pretty much." She circled the rim of her mug with a fingertip.

"So… what do  _you_  want?"

"I don't know. Part of me wants to kick his ass for even suggesting it." Oghren nodded appreciatively. "But, part of me just… wants to be with him. Fuck, that sounds pathetic, doesn't it?"

"Yep. Yep, it does." He gave her a hearty slap on the shoulder.

"Thanks. I knew I could count on you."

He grabbed their mugs and refilled them and they drank in silence for a while.

"Look," Oghren finally said, "you need to decide what you can live with. If you're happier without him, then tell him to sod off. If not, well, just make sure you go into it with your eyes open." He drained his mug. "You know it's not going to end well."

"Yeah. I know."

He leaned over and looked her in the eye. "You're gonna do it anyway, aren't you?"

Neve downed the last of her mug and stood up. "Yeah. Probably." She shrugged. "What can I say, we just… have something together."

Oghren gave her a brusque nod and raised his mug to her before he drank.

"Thanks," she said.

"Any time, Commander. Any time."

oOoOo

Neve lay in bed and watched as the sky outside her window had deepened to an impenetrable ink, the nearly full moon buoyant among the stars. She stretched out her hand to the empty side of the bed. Alistair's side. He was lying there, right now, just in a different bed. A bed that happened to be right next door. All she had to do was get up and go to him…

"Fuck it." Neve threw back the covers with a snap. If this one night was the only opportunity that they ever had again then she would never forgive herself if she had passed it up, mired in indecision. Oghren was right, though. There was no happy ending waiting for them. All they had was now.

She opened her door slowly and peered into the hallway. As she expected, two of the king's guards stood outside Alistair's room. She closed the door gently and padded over to the window instead. It opened stiffly, the frame still aching and swollen from the spring rain. She climbed outside, agile and sure, and made the easy clamber over to the window next door. The room was dark and she opened his window as quietly as she could before slipping inside.

Alistair was asleep, huddled over on the right side of the bed. She smiled. He had left her side empty as well.

The traces of moonlight shadowed over his features; his blond hair was mussed more than he would have ever allowed while he was awake, his cheeks newly shaven. The blankets were wrapped up closely around him, but she could see the hint of his bare shoulders protruding. How many nights had she had to wrestle the covers back, shivering, after he had rolled himself into them like a hibernating bear?

Neve unbuttoned her shirt and it fluttered to the floor like a ghost. She removed her trousers as well, her skin cool as stone in the crisp air. Fully naked, she slid into bed next to him and curled her body next to his, inhaling the scent of him. Her fingers slid comfortably along the planes of muscle that rippled over his stomach. He stirred slightly. She placed a soft kiss against his back, nuzzling her face against him.

"Neve?" His voice was rough with sleep. "Am I dreaming?"

"You tell me."

He grabbed the arm that she had draped across his side and pulled her in tighter. "In my dreams, you have warmer feet."

She waited.

They lay there languidly for a moment, until Alistair suddenly twisted away with a start to look at her, bewildered. "Wait! You're really here! I–I'm not dreaming, right?"

"No, Alistair, I'm here," she whispered, her fingertips stroking down the side of his face. She watched him, taking her in, his eyes darkening. They lay facing each other, only a breath of space separating them.

"I've missed you so much." She could hear the longing in his voice. It had been a lifetime since they had last lain together like this.

Neve put a finger against his lips. "No more talking. Not right now." Then she leaned in and kissed him gently. Her whole body trembled when she drew back.

His fingers traced the contours of her face, lingering over her mouth, before his hands slid behind her head. He kissed her deeply, both of them drowning in hunger and need, and she gasped against his lips as their bodies met. She could feel him, hard and ready against her, and she pressed against him with a moan. His mouth was everywhere and he snatched kisses frantically at her neck, her breasts, anywhere he could reach while his hands roamed her body. He slowed as his fingers brushed over the scars that cut across her stomach, over her side, and down her back in one continuous swath.

Alistair rolled away and tossed back the blankets that covered her. "I'm sorry." He slid down and kissed his way across each slash, as her fingers twisted in his hair.

"Don't–press down–too hard there…" It was an effort to speak, to think. The sensation of his tongue rippling over her skin was making her shake.

"Does it still hurt?" He stopped to look at her and she bit back a whimper of impatience.

"A little. It's fine." Neve sat up. "No more talking. I am so… bloody… sick... of… talking..." She punctuated each word with a sharp tug on his trousers until they were off and she chucked them to the floor.

"You know, you seem to be the one doing all the talking. I'm just saying." He was lying back on the bed with one arm tucked casually behind his head. Her eyes feasted on his body before she leapt on top of him with a growl.

Straddled across his stomach, she possessed his mouth ferociously, biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. He grasped her hips, crushing her down against him, and she shuddered wantonly. The desire to be close to him, to be consumed, devoured, was overpowering. She broke the kiss and inched back, panting, wanting, sliding along his length. Her breath was coming in shallow gasps and his hands pulled at her urgently, demanding and desperate. She sheathed him inside her with a cry that knifed through the quiet.

Her head fell back as he began to move. For this moment, this breath, this heartbeat, nothing else mattered.


	4. In The Light Of Day

**Chapter 4 – In the Light of Day**

The stars were growing fainter, pinpricks of light winking out like fireflies before the impending dawn. Neve and Alistair lay tangled up together, her head on his chest, his calloused fingers brushing over her back and shoulder. Only the faint song of a faraway bird rippled through the silence. She closed her eyes and tried to commit every detail to memory—the smell of his skin, the throb of his heart beneath her cheek.

"I wish there was some way that you could come back to Denerim with me."

"I know." She tilted her head up to nuzzle his neck, and then settled back in against his chest.

"Your nightmares are still bad, huh?" Alistair pressed a light kiss on her temple. "You were screaming in your sleep. I haven't had any in a while, but I guess it really is different when you join during a Blight."

Neve released her breath slowly. "Yeah, I guess it is." She gradually relaxed back against him, although he hadn't seemed to notice the tension. Trailing a lazy finger across his chest, she considered her words carefully. "Is Zevran back from Antiva yet?"

"No. Soon, though. Why?"

She hesitated for a moment. "I think you should ask him to track down Morrigan." The fingers on her back froze and she sighed. "I don't want to argue about it, Alistair. We just need to know more about the… child." The word stuck in her throat like a bone. "There's just too much we don't know. It scares me."

He traced his fingers over an old scar on her shoulder while he thought. "You're right." He sighed. "I'll talk to Zevran as soon as he's back. I've just been trying so hard not to think about that night."

"Was it bad?"

She waited, but he didn't speak.

"Alistair?"

"Yeah." He pulled her in tight under his chin.

The hazy pink sky was getting lighter. Their time was almost up.

He rubbed his face against the top of her head. "So, when did you cut your hair? It's sort of prickly."

"Right after I got here. I kind of like it now, actually. I don't know why I didn't do it sooner." Her hand drifted slowly down his stomach and she reveled at his body's instant reaction to her touch. "You don't really have to go back today, do you? I mean, it seems a shame to come all this way just to go back so soon." She massaged his length with firm strokes and his fingers dug into her shoulder.

"I might be able to stay another day. It all depends– "He groaned. "Maker, don't stop."

She scooted down in the bed, rearranging herself so that she could reach him more easily, and kissed the top of his erection. She smiled when he twitched against her lips. "Depends on what?" She swirled her tongue around the tip before taking him into her mouth.

"Neve…" His hands gripped her head as he urged her on, his hips trembling beneath her. She massaged the base of his shaft in time with the movement of her mouth and had him at the brink within moments.

"Oh, Maker…" He exploded into her mouth with a moan. She waited for the spasms of his release to stop before giving him one final kiss, and then she shifted to rest her head against his thigh. He stroked her hair as his heart rate slowed.

Alistair pulled her back up to his chest and kissed her. "My turn now," he said and he began to nibble and lick his way down her neck.

She stretched out onto her back as he reached her breasts and drew one of her nipples into his mouth. "So, does this mean you're staying another day?"

He stopped and looked up at her; the pink in his cheeks matched the rosy tint of his ears. "Well, it depends on–Maker, please don't kill me–um, well, how quickly Arl Eamon realizes that I'm gone."

"Are you fucking serious? You left without telling anyone?" She wriggled out from underneath him.

He ran his fingers through his hair. "Well, I did leave him a note, but I don't think he's going to be very happy about it, no."

She gave him a withering look.

"Okay, maybe not the smartest thing I've ever done. But, I had to see you. I wasn't going to let the chance slip away on me." His amber eyes were soft but determined. "I've made that mistake before and I'm  _not_  going to do it again."

Neve forced herself to take a deep breath. "Why didn't you just tell Eamon you  _had_  to come here? You could have told him Weisshaupt needed you to come for some top secret Warden thing or… something, anything! You do realize that he's probably marching on Vigil's Keep right now with half the army in tow, right?"

He flopped over next to her, a smile tugging up the corners of his mouth.

"I mean, he probably told everyone that I kidnapped you or that I'm somehow using blood magic to control you or—"

Alistair cut her off with a lingering kiss. "Hey." He touched the tip of her nose with his finger. "I'm the king, remember? He has to do what I say, now."

"So, then, why did you have to sneak off to see me?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time? It only sounds stupid now. You know, when you say it out loud."

She smacked herself in the forehead. "I'm going to go clean up and get dressed before Eamon gets here. You may want to do the same." She stood up and quickly put on her clothes from the night before.

"Neve?"

"What?"

"I love you, you know."

"Hmph."

He stood up and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his chest.

She reached up on the tips of her toes to kiss his mouth. "Go get dressed." With a glance at the window, she strode over to the door and opened it enough for her to slip out without exposing Alistair's naked backside to the hallway.

"Gentlemen," she said to the astonished guards as she strolled past them and into her room.

She washed up quickly and buckled herself into her armor before returning to Alistair's door. She knocked and opened it without waiting for a response. "You ready or are you still doing your hair?"

"Very funny." Alistair was standing by the window looking out over the courtyard of the Keep, the early morning sun casting a nimbus of light around his figure. He turned as she approached.

She ran her fingers over the golden embroidery that circled the collar of his shirt. "I still can't get used to you in these clothes. They are nice, though." He leaned down and kissed her, a sweet and gentle kiss that made her ache. She wrapped her arms around him and him and crushed her face into his chest. "I don't want to be your secret, Alistair." Her voice was soft as a flower petal, muffled against the silk.

"I know." His breath was warm against her hair. "You don't have to be. I don't want you to be. I just don't want you to get hurt... even more. You know how all the gossip will get around. People will try to use you to influence me–not that you would fall for that."

"I don't care what they say."

"Well, I don't care what they say, either. I'll marry who they want me to marry. I'll have heirs. I'll be a good king. It's why you put me there in the first place, right?" She looked up at him and he smiled sadly. "But, they can't make me stop loving you. Not now. Not ever."

She pulled his head down and kissed him, all her longing, her fears, her sorrow seeping into him like a rain-soaked shirt. She was trembling as she drew back.

"Come on, let's go down and get some breakfast before I throw you back on the bed and refuse to let you leave this room," he said.

Neve rubbed the tears from her eyes and straightened her shoulders. "Ready?"

He squeezed her hand. "I'm ready."

oOoOo

Nathaniel and Anders were sitting at the large dining table as they entered, and both men rose when they realized that she wasn't alone. Nathaniel dropped to one knee until Alistair helped him up with a smile.

"Please, I'm just Alistair here."

"Of course… Alistair," Nathaniel said. He looked at Neve with a hint of panic.

"Alistair, this is Nathaniel Howe."

Alistair's eyes widened. "As in Arl Howe?  _The_  Arl Howe?"

"Yes. I'm his… son."

Alistair raised his eyebrows at Neve and she shrugged. "I decided to give him a chance. We need all the recruits we can get. He's a better lockpick than I am and he shoots like no one I've ever seen–don't tell Leliana I said that. Besides, he's one up on Zevran since he hasn't tried to kill me yet."

"I wasn't planning on it." Nathaniel sank back down into his chair and stared at his plate.

"Give yourself a few months with her, you might change your mind," Alistair said.

She grabbed a biscuit off the table and threw it at Alistair's head and he ducked it with grin.

Anders sat down as well and glanced at Alistair with an appraising look. " _That_  is a really nice shirt."

"Alistair, this is Anders," Neve said.

"Yes, we've met. Although, I don't think you were in any condition to remember that." Alistair smirked at her.

"So, how is it that you do?" she asked Anders. "You had at least as many shots of that awful stuff as I did."

"Mage." He wiggled his fingers at her. "I can sober myself up as long as I'm coherent enough to cast the spell. Otherwise, I drink the… magic hangover juice," he said with a smile, "the same as you."

"You have no idea how jealous I am," she said and sat down next to Nathaniel.

Alistair sat next to Anders and started loading up a plate.

"Did you, uh, want me to take care of that for you?" Anders asked with a gesture at Alistair's face.

"What? Oh." Alistair touched his eye. The swelling had gone down since yesterday, but the whole area was now a startlingly vivid shade of purple. He looked at Neve before answering. "No, thanks. I deserved this one, so I think I'd rather keep it."

She smiled at him before helping herself to a large bowl of porridge. Anders gave her a wide grin before turning back to his own breakfast. As they ate, she couldn't help constantly glancing at the entrance way. It couldn't have taken Eamon long to realize that Alistair was gone. He should be here any time and it was sure to be an epic shitstorm. She caught Alistair staring at the doorway, as well, and he gave her a nervous smile.

Footsteps echoing over the stone made her stomach clench. This was it. He was here. She sat up straighter in anticipation of Varel's message, but it was Oghren who stomped into view. With a sigh of relief, she sagged back into her chair.

"Mornin', nughumpers." Oghren pulled out the chair next to the bowl heaped with bacon and slid the entire bowl into the space in front of him. "Commander." He speared a wad of bacon on his fork and stuffed it into his mouth. "Pike-twirler."

Anders' hand crept over into the bowl, but Oghren rapped him sharply on the knuckles with his fork.

"Ow! You know, maybe the rest of us would have liked some too, you know." Anders rubbed his hand in mock agony. "That really hurt!"

Oghren snorted and wiped a smear of grease through his beard.

"Are we still going to Amaranthine today, Commander?" Nathaniel asked.

Neve and Alistair exchanged glances. "I'm not sure yet," she said.

Nathaniel looked puzzled and opened his mouth to speak just as Varel hurried into the room, out of breath. "Your Majesty." He gave Alistair a quick bow. "Commander, the Arl of Redcliffe has just arrived and has demanded to see the king immediately. What do you want me to tell him?"

Oghren piped up. "Well, you can tell him to go fuck himself. Heh." Neve was tempted to give the dwarf a high-five.

"Show him into the main study, Varel. We'll be there shortly."  _Oh, and poison all the brandy in there first_ , she mentally added. If only Zevran were here…

Alistair stood up and ran his fingers through his hair as Varel bustled off.

"You ready?" She ruffled his hair to remove the crumbs of toast.

"Yeah, I'm ready."

She started to follow him but he turned back. "I need to do this on my own, I think." His eyes were serious and still.

"Oh." Was this really Alistair? "Okay."

He pressed a soft kiss to her lips, and then walked off in the same direction as Varel.

oOoOo

Alistair paused in front of the door that Varel had shown him and took a deep breath. He could do this. He was the king.

He opened the door and stepped inside, his head held high. The Arl was sitting in one of several plush chairs, drumming his fingers against his knees. His lips were pressed into a tight line.

"Your Majesty," Eamon said as he rose from the chair.

"Arl Eamon." Alistair gave him the slightest nod.

Eamon's glare drifted over the bruise that covered Alistair's eye and he let out a small huff of displeasure. Alistair regarded him coolly, holding his gaze with a hint of defiance.

The Arl spoke first, his voice calm and tight with anger. "So, what precisely did you think you were doing, leaving in the middle of night without informing me?"

Alistair positioned himself near one of the bookcases, leaning against it with a feigned casualness. Only the tightness in his shoulders and the pink tips of his ears gave him away. "I'm sorry, Eamon. I didn't mean to worry you. I–I came to a decision and I acted on it. I admit that I should have told you in person, but nothing you could have said would have changed my mind."

"Not even if I had told you that you were behaving like a child? Honestly, Alistair, what were you thinking?" Eamon's skin was flushed. "What did you expect me to tell the nobles who had audiences scheduled with you this week? That you took off by yourself to go indulge some, some childish fantasy?"

Alistair slowly clenched and unclenched his fists. "I wasn't alone. I took a unit of guards with me."

Eamon strode up directly in front of him. "That's not the point. You're the king! You can't just run off whenever you feel like it. You think I don't know that you came here to see that–that elf. If you want whores, Alistair, I can arrange—"

Alistair wrenched him up by the collar, fury coursing through him like molten steel. "Don't you ever say  _anything_  like that to me  _ever_  again." Eamon's hands flailed at Alistair's chest, but Alistair held him in place easily. He shoved the man back with a hard push.

Alistair turned away to collect himself. Had Eamon changed, or had he? This was the man who had been like a father to him, the man he had secretly followed around as a child, hoping for a drop of praise. It prickled at him; the way Eamon had insinuated himself with their group and pushed him towards the throne, how he had just  _assumed_  the role of Chancellor, the way he had roughly steered him away from Neve at every opportunity…

He could do this. He was the king.

When he turned back, his voice was quivering, but firm. "Arl Eamon of Redcliffe, your services as Chancellor to the Crown are no longer required."

Eamon sputtered. "No–you can't–how are you possibly going to function without me? I–"

Alistair forced himself to keep his tone civil. "That's my concern, not yours."

"But, but, after all that I've done for you–"

"I'm sorry, Eamon." Alistair crossed his arms across his chest. "We're done here. I would greatly prefer it if you chose to return to Redcliffe of your own volition rather than being forcibly escorted by a regiment of guards, but the choice is up to you."

Eamon was simmering with barely controlled rage. "As you wish, your Majesty. I will depart at once. I have no desire to spend any more time here than is absolutely necessary." He stalked towards the door. "When it all falls apart on you, don't ever say I didn't warn you." The door slammed shut behind him.

Alistair buried his face in his hands and hoped that he hadn't just made a huge mistake.

oOoOo

Neve paced back and forth in front of the study. As much as she wanted to press her ear to the door, she held herself back, but she could hardly stand it. Would Alistair cave in to Eamon the way he always did? She was grumbling out a swath of the filthiest expletives she could think of when the door suddenly swung open. Eamon shouted at Alistair and yanked the door shut before he turned and nearly ran her over.

His eyes narrowed. "You–this is all your fault." His skin was a mottled cherry red and flecks of spittle dotted his beard.

Wow. He was pissed.

She smiled. "Look, you pompous, old prick. I have no idea what Alistair said to you, but I have no doubt that you deserved it. You've treated him like shit since he was a kid and he just stood there and took it. The only reason I  _ever_  listened to you was because of the way he worshipped the ground you walked on and I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt. But, you know what? You really are the controlling asshole that I thought you were. And now, Alistair apparently sees that, too."

He was shaking now, the colour of his skin almost purple. It was beautiful. "Yes, well, eventually he's also going to realize that you're nothing more than a knife-ear slut." He sneered at her. Ah, so the real Eamon was coming out to play now. "Do you really think he's going to want you when he has a proper lady on his arm–and in his bed–giving him everything he desires?" He chuckled with a gasping wheeze. "He'll leave you back in the gutter where you belong."

She reached for her daggers as another voice spoke up down the corridor. "I think it's time for you to be leaving, now." Anders was slowly approaching, his fists crackling with blue lightning.

Eamon's eyes darted between the two of them before he held up his hands. "You wouldn't dare."

"Maybe she wouldn't, but I would." Anders looked glorious, like a god, raw power pouring from his hands.

Neve leveled a dagger at Eamon. Her voice was a soft hiss. "Oh, no, I definitely would. Care to call me on it?"

The Arl gave them each a quick glance again before bolting down the hallway in the direction of the front entrance. Adrenaline surged through Neve and she had to suppress the urge to chase after him, a predator pursuing her prey. Anders touched her arm and she jumped.

"Sorry. I couldn't help overhearing."

She could feel his power receding, drawing back inside of him until only the faintest tingle of magic remained on his skin. The ability to sense magic had been the only one of Alistair's templar abilities that she had managed to learn, despite months of practice. "Don't worry about it. It's nothing I haven't heard a thousand times before, honestly."

His brown eyes were filled with a mixture of concern and anger. "That doesn't make it right. Racist bastard." He spat out the last two words with a bitterness that surprised her.

"Anders?"

"Sorry." He took a deep breath. "I'll be in the library if you need me." He stuck his hands in the pockets of his robes and headed back the way he had come.

"Hey, Anders."

He turned back to look at her.

"Thanks."

"Any time."

She watched the gleam of his ponytail vanish down the gloom of the corridor before tapping on the door to the study and entering the room. Alistair was sitting on the arm of one of the chairs and he gave her a weak smile.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi."

He rose as she crossed the room and wrapped her arms around him. She held him without speaking and he buried his face in her hair.

"I revoked Arl Eamon's position as Chancellor."

She pulled back and looked at him, her eyes wide. "No wonder he was so mad."

"What am I going to do without him? I'm still so lost with all the nobles, and politics, and… everything. Maybe it was a mistake to–"

"No, believe me. You did the right thing." Fucking Eamon.

Alistair sighed, and rubbed his forehead. "Well, I guess I'm going to need a new Chancellor. I just wish I knew who to ask…"

She hugged him tightly. "Is there anyone else you trust?"

"The only one I really know aside from Eamon is Teagan, but he's only a bann. I doubt the Landsmeet would approve him."

"So, raise him up, then. You must still have land lying around somewhere."

Alistair thought for a moment, and then his eyes brightened. "I could offer him the Arling of Denerim… Yes, that could work. Do you think he'd accept?"

"Teagan's a good man. I'm sure he would."

Alistair drew her in and kissed her, gentle and sweet, and she teased his lips with her tongue. He made a low rumble in his chest as her tongue pressed inside and desire swept over her, fierce and unyielding.

"Does this mean you're staying for a few more days?" she asked as he moved to her ear, nibbling on the tip until her knees buckled.

"Yes." His breath was hot against her neck. "Does the door to this room lock?"

"Don't… know…" She was unbuttoning his shirt, pausing to kiss the bare skin beneath after each one. "Don't… care…"

When his shirt was off, she ran her fingers over his chest, her pale green eyes hard and hungry.

"Hold that thought." He pressed a kiss into her palm, flicking it with his tongue, before inspecting the door and throwing the bolt. "Now, where were we?" He lifted her up in his arms and carried her over to the small sofa.

"Alistair?"

"Yes?" He traced down her jaw with his thumb.

"I love you." She kissed his thumb as he brushed her lips.

"I love you, too."

oOoOo

Neve closed the door to her room. He was gone. Their precious few days together had vanished like the last remnants of snow in the courtyard, melting away under the heat of the strengthening sun. They had sparred each day in the wet grass, a dance as familiar as making love. They had played cards and talked endlessly, yet the moments still ran through her hands like grains of sand. At night, after they were spent, Neve watched him sleep, for once grateful that she couldn't.

It had been so easy to pretend that he didn't have to go, that things were just as they had been. She had ignored the quiet tugs at the back of her mind that had told her that she was just fooling herself, but she so desperately wanted to be fooled, just for one more day. For each morning that she had woken up with him stretched out next to her, she wanted just one more. Just one more day.

But, this morning, she had stood on the ramparts and watched him ride away, one hand raised in farewell.

He was gone.

Neve washed up slowly and ran her fingers over the purple marks he had left on her neck. Soon, those would fade, too. She tugged on her shirt and trousers, the fabric rough and foreign against her skin now, before grabbing her book from the side table next to the bed. As she turned back the covers, her heart stopped. Her book fell to the floor unnoticed.

On her pillow lay a rose. A perfect, red rose. She had left it on his pillow in Denerim the morning of his coronation, but now it was hers once more. Cradling it tentatively in her hands, she lifted it to her nose to inhale its sweetness. It would stay this way forever, its beauty preserved by Morrigan so long ago, and the irony of that wasn't lost on her now. She sat on the edge of the bed as she silently cried herself empty, water leaking from a broken glass.

At last, she sniffled and wiped her face on her shirt. She laid the rose down tenderly on the side table and opened the bottom drawer. The small, dusty case was still there, untouched since her arrival. She lifted it out carefully onto her lap and outlined the shape of the clasp with her fingers before opening it with a snap. Three full rows of vials, perfectly packed. Neve removed one and swirled the murky grey liquid as she tilted it back and forth. She tucked it into the pocket of her trousers and returned the case to the drawer.

With slow steps, she blew out each of the candles, leaving her room in darkness, before she crept silently into the hall. The room next door was empty, as she had known it would be; his absence a vacuum that drew her in. The blankets on the bed were still rumpled, silent witnesses to their last intimate hours. Neve crawled into bed and curled up on Alistair's side. The scent of him–of them–still lingered and she closed her eyes and wished for impossibilities until the tears started again.

She took the vial from her pocket and drained the contents with a shudder. Her thoughts grew thick and muddy as it pulled her under, devouring her dreams in a mindless oblivion.

The Archdemon's corpse would not find her tonight.


	5. Amaranthine

**Chapter 5 – Amaranthine**

Anders woke early, with dawn barely breaking over the Keep, and dressed quickly. His pack had been ready for days now and he slung it over his shoulder before grabbing his staff, the wood familiar and comforting in his hand. He loped downstairs and was relieved to see that breakfast had already been laid out. The insatiable hunger he'd had since the Joining clawed at him, bringing with it a host of unpleasant memories like a puppy clambering for attention. After he'd eaten his fill, he stuffed a few apples and a wedge of cheese into his pack. Never hurt to be prepared.

He dawdled a bit longer before heading outside. The air was cool and damp, and he whistled as he wandered a circuit around the courtyard. The edges of his cloak fluttered in the wind, but the chill was refreshing rather than unpleasant. The keening cry of a hawk pierced through the hush and Anders followed the course of its flight appreciatively as it ghosted overhead. He was absentmindedly shooting bolts of lightning at one of the stone walls when Nathaniel emerged from the Keep.

"Anders." Nathaniel gave him a curt nod and dropped his pack on the sodden ground before reaching around for the quiver strapped against his back.

"Nathaniel!" Anders smiled broadly, and rubbed his hands together. "Any sign of our illustrious leader yet?"

Nathaniel spared him the briefest glance while continuing to inspect his supply of arrows. "No."

"You know what I love about you, Nate? You are  _such_  a fascinating conversationalist."

"Don't call me Nate." He didn't bother to look up this time.

"Suit yourself." Anders shrugged and tucked his hands into the pockets of his robe. After another round of the courtyard, he was starting to get twitchy.

"Excuse me?" A dwarven woman was marching through the grass towards them, strands of sunlight glinting off the burnished copper of her hair. "Can you tell me where I can find Oghren? This is Vigil's Keep, right?"

Anders gave her a smooth smile. "Of course, my dear lady. Please, this way." He looked her over from the corner of his eye as they walked. Not bad at all. But, she was here to see… Oghren? He couldn't imagine anyone finding that dwarf even remotely attractive. Maybe she was his sister or something.

They met Varel in the entranceway, lugging a pack filled with food.

"Ah, Anders! Can I get you to take this outside?" He stopped at the sight of the dwarf. "Oh! Can I be of assistance?"

The woman turned her sharp gaze on him. "I'm here to talk to Oghren."

"Of course. And you are?"

Her mouth was the cut from a dagger, thin and straight. "Just tell him Felsi's here."

Anders shrugged his shoulders at Varel's unasked question and easily wrestled the pack from Varel's struggling grasp. "Varel? Is the Commander on her way?"

"Shortly. She was in the main hall eating breakfast a few moments ago, so I imagine she'll be out soon." He turned his attention to Felsi with a polite smile. "Please, follow me."

Anders watched them go before heading back outside. He set the food pack down beside the others and perched himself on the edge of the stone well in the center of the courtyard, idly kicking his feet against the side. Nathaniel was inspecting his bow now, wiping it down with some sort of oil. Maker, how much longer? The sun had already burned off the morning dampness and the sky was a polished eggshell of powder blue.

Finally, the Commander appeared through the broad doors of the Keep and hurried down the steps. Nathaniel stood up, snapping to attention, as she marched towards them. Suck up. Anders pushed himself up with a casual feline grace that belied his impatience.

"Nathaniel. Anders." She gave each one a perfunctory nod. All business today, apparently. "Has Daron brought the horses around yet?"

"No," Nathaniel said. "Did you want me to go check?"

"Please."

Anders brushed the specks of mud from the back of his robes. "So, we're just waiting for Oghren, then, and we're ready to go? Is he all done talking with his… lady friend?" He smirked.

"Ah, no. He's not going to be coming with us today. He and Felsi have a lot to talk about."

Anders raised an eyebrow, but she gave him a glare that clearly indicated that it was none of his business before turning to inspect the pack full of food. Her hands were shaking, faint tremors, barely noticeable. Her balance seemed a little off as well, a hint of instability in the way she raised herself from her crouched position.

"Commander?"

She looked up. A fine mist of sweat clung to her brow.

"Are you feeling all right?" Anders asked.

Her forehead crinkled in a scowl. "Yes, why wouldn't I be?"

"You don't look well. Did you want me to just quickly—"

"No. I'm fine. Really." She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.

"Are you sure? It wouldn't take more than a minute."

"I'm fine." She emphasized each word and ended the statement with a concentrated glower.

He threw his hands up. "Okay, I was just trying to help." What was with everybody today?

Nathaniel and the stable master appeared, each leading two horses.

"I'm sorry, Daron," she said, "we actually only need three today."

The stable master was tall and slender, a droopy string bean with a full head of thatched blond hair. "No problem at all, Commander. No problem at all." The horses were whickering softly and Daron rubbed the nearest nose affectionately.

"Does it matter which one we take?" Nathaniel asked as he eyed the horses appreciatively.

"No, take whichever you like, except for the black one with the white socks. He's mine; the others are the ones the Orlesians brought." She took the black horse's reins from Daron's hand.

Nathaniel chose a dappled grey mare, Anders a roan stallion, and Daron led the other horse back to the stables. Before securing his pack, Anders tugged out an apple and offered it to his horse.

"What do you think of 'Bolt'?" Anders asked softly. He stroked the horse's broad nose as he made short work of the apple. The horse nudged him. "No, no more apples for now." Anders cinched the pack in place. "Now, don't look at me like that. We have a long way to go. We'll have more later, I promise."

"Are you talking to yourself or your horse? I don't know which is worse." Nathaniel had already mounted his horse and was staring at him with a smug look.

"And yet, I already find Bolt infinitely more engaging than you." Anders stepped up and settled into his saddle easily.

The Commander was perched on her mount; her tiny form almost child-like compared to her horse's wide back. She clutched the reins tightly in both hands.

"Nathaniel, why don't you lead since you know this area better than either of us?" Her voice was steadier than she looked.

"Certainly, Commander." Nathaniel urged his horse forward.

Anders tapped his feet lightly against Bolt's sides and the horse's muscled body rippled into motion beneath him. It was exquisite.

The group trotted through the large gates in the outer wall of the Keep, small outbuildings soon giving way to scrubby grasslands. New green shoots were just beginning to rise above the brown mat of the previous year's growth, a promise of things to come. Unable to contain himself, Anders nudged Bolt forward into a full gallop, overtaking Nathaniel as he surged ahead. He could sense the horse's exhilaration matched his own and couldn't help letting out a whoop of joy. He could hear Nathaniel and the Commander thundering along behind him, hoof beats drumming, a ragged heartbeat thrumming in his chest.

Anders let the horse run until he was sated before he pulled Bolt back into an easy trot, the others pulling up alongside him. The Commander was watching him, the corner of her mouth turned up in the smallest quirk of a grin. He smiled back, genuine and open. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he had felt like this.

oOoOo

"Darkspawn. Not far ahead… Ten or so. No emissaries." The Commander had already dismounted, her daggers glinting in the bright sunlight.

They had only been riding for a few hours or so, but it was still nice to stretch a little. Anders pulled his staff from his back and channeled lightning into the tip, trapping the energy there. He enjoyed the push and pull as it strained against the barrier he had erected.

She strode forward purposefully, and he followed, the lightest tickle of darkspawn taint curdling in his belly now that they were practically on top of them. Nathaniel already had an arrow loosely nocked. She turned back briefly. "Without Oghren here, I need you two to take out as many as you can before they get to me, since I'll be in the thick of it, drawing their attention away from you. Got it?"

"Your wish is my command." Anders grinned and allowed a crackle of lightning to arc between his staff and his outstretched hand.

Nathaniel nodded grimly.

"Good. Let's get these fuckers."

The hulking shapes in the distance lurched closer. Anders pointed his staff at a hurlock at the rear of the group and released the energy from his staff, sizzling azure sparks leaping across to strike. He pulled on the magic from deep within and let it go, power blooming in his veins. Nathaniel was firing, each draw equal and sure, the twang of the bowstring reverberating in the air. Anders channeled another surge of lightning into his hands and the air around him hummed with it. The Commander stood beside him, balancing on the balls of her feet, tense and waiting. Only a handful were left when she charged forward with a scream.

She plunged into the middle of them, daggers dancing, as she stabbed and pivoted. A hurlock went down first, her blade in its throat, and she kicked away a smaller genlock attempting to press into the opening. She turned to take out another hurlock coming at her flank. The Commander was wild, the unbridled fury of a blast of wind ripping trees out by the roots. Anders held back, his magic begging for release, afraid of hitting her. The last one fell at her feet with a dull thud and she rose from her half-crouch warily. Her pale skin was flecked with crimson spray, nostrils flared slightly with the exertion. She wiped her face on the edge of her cloak; crisp perfect drops now streaks cutting a swath over her eyes.

"We'll stack them up and burn them." She surveyed the corpses with cold eyes and kicked the closest one with her foot. "Nicely done."

oOoOo

They were attacked twice more before they reached the city and night had already fallen as they walked their horses towards the huge archway at the entrance to Amaranthine. The stone walls towered high above them, and Anders had to force himself to not look back as they passed underneath the arch; half expecting a cold iron door to be slamming shut behind him. He could see the sky at least, the reassuring flicker of starlight above. They were here. Finally.

The Commander and Nathaniel walked slightly ahead; she was still marching angrily, fuming over the way the guard at the entrance had spoken only to Nathaniel, pointedly ignoring her until she had shoved him up against the wall and torn him a new one. Anders smiled.

Once the horses were stabled, they headed for the inn that Nathaniel had recommended. The streets were quiet and they passed only a pair of patrolling guardsmen on their way to The Crown and Lion. He was pretty sure that anyone in their right mind wouldn't bother them, seeing as how they were all still spattered with dried darkspawn blood. Andraste's knickers, the Commander looked like she had been dunked in it.

The outside of the inn had seen better days, but the interior was small and relatively clean. The Commander arranged for rooms—and baths—while the innkeeper tried valiantly to keep her from smearing her blood-stained hands all over his clean countertop. The bath was heavenly, the hot meal even more so, and he pushed back his chair with a satisfied sigh. The Commander had been almost as quiet as Nathaniel during dinner and he watched her as she idly toyed with her fork, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. Nathaniel laid his cutlery down, delicately crossed on his empty plate.

"So, what's the plan for tomorrow, Commander?" Nathaniel asked.

She sat forward and rubbed her eyes. "Well, I need to talk to some craftsman for Voldrik, I want to see about some armor and equipment for the two of you…" She tapped the table lightly with her fork for each task as she listed them. "Varel wants me to meet with Constable Aidan about the guard distribution in the arling, and I suppose I should drop in at the Chantry and introduce myself." The tines of her fork scraped sharply into the surface of the table. She dropped it on her plate as she seemed to realize what she was doing. "When did you want to go see your sister?"

Nathaniel's features softened and he gave her a half smile. How had she managed to get grumpy, old Nate to look like that? He looked like a puppy. A dopey, little puppy. "I was hoping I could go first thing tomorrow morning, if that's all right."

"Why don't you just spend the day there? Anders and I can handle everything easily enough. I might come and grab you for a few minutes when we're picking you out some new armor though." She looked over at Anders and raised her eyebrows. "Although, I could always just make Anders try it on for you."

"Oh, no, no, no, you're not getting me into his clothes." Anders crossed his arms over his chest.

"Oh?" The Commander gave him a wide-eyed stare. "You'd rather get into them yourself, would you?"

"What? No!" Anders sputtered a little. Nathaniel was making similar noises of protest on the other side of the table.

The Commander snorted. Her laugh was really not lady-like at all.

She stood slowly with a muffled yawn. "Well, gentlemen, I'm going to bed. See you two in the morning. Don't get into any trouble."

Yeah, like Nate would even know  _how_  to get into any trouble.

"Of course, Commander. " Anders gave her an effortless smile. "We'll be on our best behavior. No need to worry."

She rolled her eyes.

"Good night, Anders." She smacked him on the shoulder as she maneuvered around behind him towards the stairs. "Nathaniel."

"Good night, Commander," Nathaniel said.

"So," Anders said once she was out of sight, "what do you want to do? We could get drunk… that's always fun. Or, we could go find some company." He looked slyly down towards the end of the room where a group of mostly girls were giggling quietly. "You look like you could use a really good f—"

"Uh, no thanks," Nathaniel said. "I think I'm just going to head up to my room, too."

Maybe he was going to curl up in front of the Commander's door for the night. He had to stifle a snicker. One of the barmaids sauntered over to tidy up their plates.

"Oh, okay, well, good night, then." Anders did his best to sound disappointed as Nathaniel scurried off upstairs.

Excellent. That had been easier than he'd thought. He briefly debated about going to get his cloak but the thought of delaying any longer when the answer was so close now was unbearable.

"Anything else you need?" the barmaid asked. She wasn't overly attractive; her nose was too big, her eyes were a little gummy looking, but her chest was breathtaking—plump, firm, luscious…

"Not at the moment, my dear lady, but perhaps… later." He gave her a wink.

"Of course, ser." The innuendo sailed over her head and clattered to the floor. All right, a little slow on the uptake too. It could be worse.

He straightened his robes and brushed away the few crumbs he found. Now… to find Namaya. He gave the innkeeper a friendly nod before he disappeared into the darkness of Amaranthine.

oOoOo

Anders slipped through the streets, easily finding his way to the small house tucked away in the back corner of the city. A muted yellow glow shone through the cracks in the shuttered windows. He hesitated for a moment near the door—she was probably royally pissed off with him at the moment—but he  _had_  to know. He smoothed back a wisp of hair that had escaped his ponytail and knocked.

"Who's there?" She was always so suspicious.

"Namaya? It's me. Anders."

The door opened a crack and Namaya peered out at him before slowly opening it the rest of the way. Her eyes were distant as she leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms over her chest.

"About time you showed up." Namaya's voice simmered with barely contained anger.

"I'm happy to see that you're still here." Anders smiled and reached out to tuck one of her small braids behind her ear, but she flinched and pulled back. His smile faded a little.

"I keep my promises." She left the accusation unsaid, but he felt its sting regardless. She looked him over slowly. "Turns out you were right. The cache is here in Amaranthine."

Relief flooded through him so quickly that he thought his knees were going to give out. "It is? You found it?"

"I did. It's in a warehouse near the market district, the one with the broken wooden slat in the front window. What you do with that information is up to you. I, for one, am done dealing with mages." She hugged her arms more tightly against her chest.

Anders nearly reached out his hand to touch her arm, but stopped himself quickly. That would probably just make things worse. "Er, I guess I should thank you…"

"Damned right you should." She pushed his chest back forcefully. "You get caught, Anders, I'm not helping you again. That's all I'm saying."

"Namaya, I just want to say that I'm sorry—"

"Stop. Just stop. I don't want to hear it, okay?" She stepped back into the doorway and gave him one final glance. "Good-bye, Anders."

The door closed behind her and Anders was plunged back into darkness. She really had been too good to him. She deserved better, and even if she was hurt now, it was for the best. He walked slowly back to the inn, turning everything over in his mind. The guilt he felt was quickly overshadowed by a sense of elation. His phylactery was here, within reach! He could be truly free, untraceable. The thought made his pace quicken until he was almost running. So close. He was so close. The only thing left was to convince the Commander that he needed her help. How hard could that be?


	6. The Best Laid Plans

**Chapter 6 – The Best Laid Plans**

Anders spent most of the night pacing, unable to sleep. His stomach churned and he massaged his temples in a half-hearted attempt at calming his nerves. He had practiced what he would say to the Commander until he was tripping over the words and the temptation to go on his own was barely outweighed by his caution. He had waited this long. What was a few more hours? He was patient. He could wait.

Andraste's arse, how much longer until dawn?

He thumped down on the edge of the bed and sighed. Maybe he could just go take a quick look…

Anders wrapped his cloak tightly around his shoulders and hurried down the stairs. The common room was deserted, even the innkeeper's customary spot at the counter was empty, and he pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped outside. The sky was no longer black, but a velvety shade of purple and the cobblestones beneath his feet were slick with moisture; condensed from the dampness that hung like gauze in the alleyways. The only sound was the soft padding of his feet on the stone as he threaded his way through the streets towards the market distract. The stalls here were vacant, empty shells waiting for their masters to bring them to life once more. Anders studied the buildings he passed more closely now, walking with careful steps.

Not this one… or this one… He stopped. The window in front of him was boarded up with one slat missing, an eye winking in the stone.

This one.

He bent down as if he had dropped something before forcing himself to continue walking past it. Couldn't hurt to be careful.

The corner of the two outer walls of the city was just ahead, and he slid into the shadowed niche gratefully. His heart was thundering in his ears. He leaned against the wet wall, icy droplets rolling down his hair onto his neck, and stared at the doorway feverishly. It wasn't until the first few merchants arrived, calling out muffled greetings and carrying things out to their stalls that he realized the sky was awash in muted pastels of orange and pink.

Finally.

oOoOo

Anders shoved the inn door open with an enthusiastic push. The sweet scent of griddle cakes permeated the air and the innkeeper gave him a sleepy greeting. A few patrons were eating breakfast, Nathaniel among them. Anders plopped himself down roughly in the seat next to him.

"Morning, Nate!"

Nathaniel's eyes glanced over at Anders' disheveled ponytail, his unshaven jaw, his damp cloak. He raised his eyebrows ever so slightly. "Do I even want to know what you did last night?"

Anders grinned. "Well, my dear Nathaniel, I would be more than happy to tell you all about it. Shall I start with her legs? Her breasts? Her… posterior?" Anders winked suggestively and Nathaniel threw up his hands in horror.

"Forget I asked. You're impossible to talk to."

"I do my best!"

Anders meandered over to the innkeeper to order his own meal and Nathaniel had nearly finished his by the time he returned to the table.

"No Commander yet this morning?"

Nathaniel shook his head. "Not yet."

Anders chewed on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully and drummed his fingers against the table.

"Do you think we should check on her?"

"Let her sleep. She looks like she needs it." Nathaniel wiped his mouth on his napkin, and then folded it neatly before setting it down on his empty plate. He stood up just as Anders' food arrived. "Tell the Commander I'm sorry I missed her this morning."

"Sure. Have a good day with your sister." Anders drenched his griddle cakes in syrup.

"Thanks."

Anders inhaled his food, his mind whirling. He glanced up each time the stairs creaked loudly only to be summarily disappointed. When he had finished, he wandered back upstairs, hesitating by the Commander's door. Maybe he should check on her… But, he stifled the urge and went back to his own room to tidy up. He shaved, changed into a clean set of robes, mostly threadbare but still passable, and then brushed his hair, tying it back with a thin strip of leather. Satisfied, he strolled back down the corridor and peered over the railing into the common room below. She wasn't there.

He crossed the hallway to the Commander's room and knocked. Quiet murmurs ghosted up from downstairs but there was nothing but silence behind the door. He knocked again.

"Commander?" Anders pressed his ear to the door. Nothing.

"Commander, is everything all right?"

He cautiously drew a wisp of energy into his fingertips and reached for the worn metal lock just as the door swung inwards with a creaking moan.

"Anders?" She staggered against the doorframe, her legs trembling. She was still dressed in what clearly were her sleeping clothes.

He grabbed her arm to keep her from falling forward. "It's okay, I've got you. Here we go…" He murmured a string of reassurances as he steered her slowly back to the bed where she perched unsteadily on the edge.

Anders sunk down to his knees in front of her. Her pupils were huge splatters of ink, blotting out the green. He spoke with a forced aura of calmness despite the panic crawling on pointed claws through his gut. "Commander, I'm just going to check you over, okay? It won't hurt. Everything's going to be okay."

She nodded and he touched his fingers to the pulse points where her jaw met her neck. The beating of her heart flickered against his fingertips, erratic and sharp. Anders closed his eyes and allowed a tendril of magic to flow into her and he followed it, pulling himself downward on a rope descending into darkness—a flood of bitterness on his tongue, numbness creeping into his limbs, the familiar siren song of tainted blood contaminated with something foreign… He relaxed his hold on the stream of magic connecting them in controlled steps. The trickle became a stream, the stream became a river, and he washed her blood clean as the tide of energy surged into her. It was difficult to rein his magic back in when he had finished. It, too, hungered to be free.

By degrees, his awareness returned. The hard floor beneath his knees. The sound of their ragged breathing. Her head had slipped down so that her forehead was now pressed against his. When he had siphoned the last of his magic from her body, she sighed, her warm breath a ghostly caress down his face. Anders rested weakly against her and opened his eyes.

He was looking directly down her shirt.

Maker's balls, he couldn't help himself. His gaze slid down past the thin scar over her collarbone to the mounds of her breasts, the soft raspberry pink of her n—

She shoved him, hard, and he fell backwards, barely managing to stay somewhat upright.

"Anders, what the fuck are you doing here?" Her eyes were blazing.

He fumbled for words and felt a warm flush searing his cheeks. "I, uh, you were—do you remember opening the door?"

Her brow wrinkled. "No."

"You were completely drugged out of your mind. What did you take?"

She opened her mouth as if to speak, and then stopped. "Oh."

Anders picked himself up off the floor and brushed off his robes. "Well?"

The Commander reached down beside the bed and pulled her pack closer. The top flap was already open and she carefully removed a roll of heavy cloth. She unrolled it on top of the blankets and Anders could see that the inside was a rectangle of numerous slim, vertical pockets. She drew a vial from one of them and stretched it out towards him.

Anders stepped forward to take it and she folded her hands in her lap as he examined the contents of the vial. Grey, viscous. He removed the stopper and sniffed. Deathroot. Something else… poppies? He placed a fingertip over the open top and tilted it, leaving a droplet on his finger. The taste on his tongue brought a memory. A hot summer afternoon in the tower, slowly stirring a mixture over a low flame. Wynne's low voice explaining why the ratios in the compound had to be precise. "How much did you take?"

She shrugged and rubbed her hands over her knees. "Two vials."

"Two vials! Are you insane?" He stared at her incredulously.

"One wasn't enough."

"How could one not be enough? You must weigh, what, ninety pounds? One of these could probably put a horse to sleep! Do you have any idea how close you came?"

She stood up and stalked towards him, a hint of shakiness still remaining. "We're done here. Get out."

"No, we're not done." Anders dropped the vial in his hand, murky droplets spattering on the floor at his feet, and reached out to take her shoulders before thinking better of it. His hands dropped to his sides in tight fists. "If you'd taken any more, you probably would have died."

"Fuck off, Anders." Her voice was a dangerous whisper. "It's none of your business."

"Fine." He glared at her furiously. "But, I'm not leaving these." He scooped the cloth haphazardly from the bed. "Go find some other way to kill yourself."

"I wasn't trying to kill myself."

"Sure. Whatever you say, Commander." Anders yanked the door open and strode out, slamming the door behind him.

oOoOo

Anders sat on his bed, leaning against the headboard. It had to be mid-afternoon now from the slant of the sun that was making his legs a little too hot. He shifted them out of the sunbeam's onslaught and tried to ignore the noisy grumblings of his stomach. Why today, of all days? His phylactery was here, it had to be. Namaya wouldn't lie about something so important, not when she knew how much it meant to him. He didn't need the Commander's help. He could do it on his own tonight. With his phylactery gone, he wouldn't need the Wardens' protection anymore; he could vanish and they would never find him.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, hastily grabbing his pack and cloak before securing his staff to his back. There. No need to come back. The roll of cloth and a handful of empty vials lay in a pile on the low dresser beside the bed. At the last minute, he tossed the vials onto the fabric and rolled it into a loose ball.

The hallway was empty and he threw the bundle down by her door as he walked past. It landed with a satisfying thud, the jumble of glass inside crashing together. Done. Anders stomped down the stairs and out of the inn.

The streets were dotted with people living out the domestic life that had always seemed to elude him. Most of the faces were bright, hopeful. They had survived the Blight and Ferelden would recover once more. The smell of salt grew stronger as he reached the tavern near the docks. The outside of the building was lined with a green mold that flourished between the cracks in the stone walls and the yard was littered with garbage. Ah, The Painted Lady; the one woman he could always count on.

The door handle was sticky—best not to think about what it was—but opened easily as the latch was evidently broken. The sour stench of booze and sweat was overpowering and the rumble of conversation stopped as he entered. A few grizzled sailors sat playing cards near the bar and Anders settled his face into a suitable glower. He strolled up to the bar and ordered two of the lunch specials from the heavily tattooed bartender before slouching down at a table in the corner to wait.

He was getting  _so_  tired of waiting.

oOoOo

Anders lurked in the dense blackness of the alleyway across the street from the warehouse. He had been there for an hour or two now, watching. There had been no signs of movement from within, no trickles of light from between the slats, nothing but a state of quiet abandonment. He set his pack down against the wall and picked up his staff. The wood was smooth and well-worn under his grip, a small comfort in the lonely darkness. He took a few controlled breaths as he tried unsuccessfully to get his nerves under control. He could do this.

"What are you doing?" a voice whispered next to his ear.

Anders jumped and whirled around to see the Commander standing right behind him. "Andraste's tits! You scared the shit out of me!"

Her mouth quirked up into a tiny grin. "Do you want me to say sorry even if I don't mean it?"

He scowled and the grin dropped from her lips.

"Look, I do want to apologize for earlier." She ran her hand over her head, making her hair bristle up into little spikes. "I appreciate what you did for me. I'm sorry if I… overreacted."

"You could have died."

"I didn't know. I guess Wynne never thought I'd be stupid enough to take more than one."

Anders huffed. "Then she clearly doesn't know you very well." He leaned back against the stone and glanced over at her. "If I tell you again how dumb you were, are you going to punch me?"

"Maybe. Care to find out?"

"Hmm… I think I'll pass."

She smiled then, a real smile. "So, what's in that building over there?"

"Well, uh, it's a long story." He tightened his grip on his staff. "The reason I've been so anxious to get to the city is that I wanted to meet up with… a friend, Namaya."

The Commander's eyebrows raised a little, but she motioned for him to continue.

"The last time I escaped from the Tower, I asked her to look into some things. That's why I was in Amaranthine in the first place. The templars thought I'd come to take a ship, but it was really to meet her. Apparently, during the Blight, the templars moved their store of phylacteries from Denerim to Amaranthine—for safety. My phylactery is among them, Namaya learned. And, so long as the templars have that sample of my blood, they can find me."

"So, you want to—"

"I  _need_  to destroy it." He fixed his gaze on the warehouse, his jaw clenched tightly.

She studied him for a moment. "Wait here, I'll be right back." She was gone before he had time to reply.

He gave in to the urge to pace and stalked up and down in the darkness until a light touch on his arm made him jump.

"Gah! Stop doing that!"

"Can I help it if you have no powers of observation? C'mon," she said as she dragged him back to the mouth of the alleyway. "I went all the way around. The front door there appears to be the only entrance. There are a few other windows, but they're completely boarded up. Honestly, it looks like a strange place to store a bunch of phylacteries to me. Are you sure this… Namaya, is reliable?"

"Yeah." He swallowed around the guilty lump forming in his throat.

"Okay, then. Ready?"

Anders nodded. He was so very ready.

The Commander sauntered towards the building, managing a casual glance down both sides of the street. When they reached the doorway, she slid a small set of lockpicks from inside her boot and proceeded to pick the lock almost as quickly as if she had used a key.

"I'm impressed," he whispered.

"You should be." She drew her daggers and pulled the door open. They both slipped inside.

Anders couldn't see anything because the interior was an impenetrable black, but the air smelled stale and dusty. His feet scuffed along the uneven wooden floor. He heard her sigh.

"Go ahead and make some light so you can see. There's nothing here."

No, it couldn't be. He allowed a bloom of fire to blossom in his palm. The room was almost empty, only a handful of broken crates and barrels remained. A few bookshelves, shelves splintered and rotten, flanked a closed door at the back of the room. The floor was covered in a thick layer of grime and the only footprints were their own.

"I'm sorry, Anders. If they  _were_  here, they're not here now. Or, this is a trap..."

Had Namaya been wrong? Did she do this deliberately, just to get back at him? His shoulders sagged as he looked listlessly around the room.

"Stay here, there's still one more place to check." The Commander crept over to the other door and listened. She examined the lock on the door before motioning him forward.

"Trap," she whispered. "Let's make sure they have a really shitty day."

"Agreed."

She shoved the door open and it hit the opposite wall with a loud bang. Torches flared to life in the sconces on the walls of the small room. His stomach lurched. Templars. Of course, she would be here too… That woman just couldn't seem to let go.

"And here I almost believed the infamous Anders wouldn't take the bait," Rylock said as she stepped forward. She wore no helm, her face an impassive mask.

"Ah. Yes, I suppose I should have known it would be you." Anders shrugged. "Have you been sitting here, in the dark, thinking about me all this time? Maybe about the last time we—"

"Hardly." Her jaw snapped shut with a click. "We've had people watching you since the moment you entered the city. You made a poor choice with this one, Commander. Anders will never submit, not to us and not to you."

The Commander's tone was icy. "He's made a fine Grey Warden so far."

"'So far,' yes." Rylock gave her a pandering smile. "I'll make sure that this murderer is never a bother to anyone again."

"What? No, you can't arrest me! The Commander invoked the Right of Conscription!" He could feel the power building in his veins as his panic rose.

"The Chantry's authority supersedes the Grey Wardens in this matter. You cannot hide within their ranks."

"He stays with me." The Commander stalked forward and pushed herself in front of him.

"Hardly surprising. The Grey Wardens have ever been a haven for criminals and maleficar. I do not know how you inspire such loyalty, Anders, but it will avail you naught. Now, you come with us." She gestured with a gauntleted hand at the two templars on either side of her.

Even Anders was surprised when the Commander charged—no, leapt—at Rylock, who stood there, stunned, her sword still strapped to her back.

Rylock threw up her arm to block her first attack and the Commander's dagger clanged off the metal of her armor. The other two templars surged forward, and Anders released his magic, throwing out a blast of wintery air that slowed them both. Rylock had drawn her sword now and she and the Commander were circling each other. This wasn't good. If they drained him now, they were both dead. Blue sparks collected around his hands, coursing in arcs up to the tip of his staff, as he prepared to cast again. He jabbed the end into the breastplate of the templar closest to him, firing a powerful jolt through the metal and into his chest. The templar slumped to the ground just as his partner grabbed Anders from behind.

"You'll die for that, mage!"

The edges of the templar's armor bit painfully into his skin and he felt his power ebbing, being sucked away. His staff clattered to the floor. He needed to get free, before it was too late. Anders leaned forward, as much as the grip around his chest would allow, and then slammed his head back into the man's helm. The impact was a shock of pain, white light flashed across his vision, but it was enough to make the man loosen his hold. Anders twisted in the tight metal embrace and placed his hands against the templar's exposed skin just below the edge of his helm. Lightning seared through his palms and he funneled it into the man's throat, not relenting until he went limp.

He looked around wildly. The Commander was bleeding from a gash on her leg and she was shouting and cursing at Rylock as she darted forward again and again. Anders tried to summon more magic into his hands, but he had nothing left.

He taunted Rylock, trying to get her attention, but the templar ignored him, feinting back before pivoting to strike again. Anders grabbed his staff from the ground and moved up behind her, swinging it out across the back of her legs just as she lunged back. She fell backwards, hitting the ground with a crash of metal. The Commander was on her in an instant and punched one of her daggers into Rylock's throat. Blood pulsed out in frothy torrent and it sprayed over the Commander's face, her teeth still bared in a savage snarl. She didn't stop. Her daggers plunged into Rylock's neck again and again.

"Stop! Stop!" Anders heaved her, still flailing, off of Rylock's corpse. She elbowed him hard in the gut and he grunted in pain. He tried to hold her arms but she was too strong and she slipped from his grasp, leaving his hands slick with blood.

"Commander!"

She turned to face him, a vision from a nightmare, covered in gore. Her eyes stood out in stark contrast with the red that rolled in fat droplets to the floor. Anders let out the breath he'd been holding as her shoulders relaxed and she came back into herself. She walked slowly around the small room as she wiped the blood from her mouth and eyes with the back of her hand.

"Here." Her voice was hoarse. "They came in here. That's why we didn't see them." She tapped her foot against a wooden panel in the floor.

Anders stood there, unmoving. They had killed Rylock. What was going to happen to him? And it was all for nothing, again. His phylactery remained as out of reach as it had always been.

The Commander rubbed her face on the edge of her cloak, although it didn't do much to improve her ghastly appearance. "Well, I don't know about you, but I could really use a drink."

"Yes," he said, picking up his staff, "a drink sounds fantastic right about now. A really, really big one."

oOoOo

The innkeeper at The Crown and Lion had done a double-take when they had walked in, the conversation in the common room dropping abruptly into absolute silence. To his credit, the man had merely ordered baths drawn in both of their rooms, earning a grateful nod from the Commander.

Anders now sat at one of the tables in the corner with a half-finished pint already in front of him. The tables surrounding him were all empty, the locals having decided to crowd together at the tables furthest away from him, strangely enough. He raised his glass to the Commander as she descended the stairs and she flashed him a smile before heading over to the bar and returning with a pint of her own.

"Sorry, I took so long. My armor was filthy." She took a large draw from her mug.

"No worries. I don't think any amount of laundering is going to get my robes clean." Putting on a set of clean robes after his bath had been practically orgasmic.

"Well, get used to it. Darkspawn blood is even worse."

They drank in silence for a while. Anders ordered another pint. The exhaustion of not sleeping the night before was making him a little light-headed.

"Commander?" She looked up at him. "I… just wanted to say thank you for earlier. You didn't need to stick your neck out for me, but you did. I just wanted you to know that it meant a lot to me."

"You're a friend. Friends stick up for each other."

"I… guess they do." Rylock was gone. It was a strange and sobering thought.

"Can I ask you something?" Her fingertip circled the rim of her mug.

"Sure."

"What was it like, living at the Tower?" Her finger had paused mid-circle.

He sighed. "Well, it was all right, I suppose. We were fed, clothed, educated. More than you can say for some, but it was still a prison. We were taken from our families, forbidden to leave without written permission and a templar escort. We can't marry, our children are given at birth to the Chantry…" His voice was getting louder. "But, it's okay to treat us that way because we're mages. We  _might_  use our magic for something horrible. We  _might_  all turn into a bunch of abominations at the drop of a hat. Oh, but that guy that everyone knows is beating his wife and kids? Everyone's fine with him living right next door." Anders took a swallow of ale and set his mug down on the table with a thump. "Sorry, didn't mean to go off on you there."

"So, you escaped?" The Commander leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table. The firelight bathed the room in a golden hue, making the tips of her hair glint with streaks of red.

He chuckled, a sound that wasn't exactly happy. "Just a few times. I was only sixteen the first time I tried. They threatened to make me Tranquil after they dragged me back so I had to wait until after I was Harrowed to try again. I tried six more times." Her eyes widened at this. "But, they always found me thanks to my fucking phylactery. I think Rylock enjoyed the hunt, to be honest. The last time, they locked me up in a room by myself for a year. I think I would have lost it if it weren't for the Tower cats coming and going. I still have no idea how they got in…" Anders finished his pint and leaned back in his chair.

"Fuck, Anders. I had no idea." She blew out a breath and rubbed her hand over her head.

He gave her a small smile. "It's kind of ironic that the Wardens' death sentence in a cup is the most freedom I've had in years."

"The Wardens." She raised her flagon in the air.

"The Wardens." Anders tapped his empty mug to hers. "I'm going for a refill. You want another?"

"Yes." She drained the rest of her ale in one long swallow. "Yes, I do."

He walked to the bar and ordered two more pints. After a moment's thought, he ordered a platter of meats and cheeses as well. The common room was nearly empty now, only a handful of patrons remained and most were deep in their cups. Food and drinks in hand, he maneuvered his way back to their table and plunked everything down in front of her.

She stared at the heaping plate and then at him. "Anders, I think I love you."

He grinned. "That's because I'm so naturally charming. And suave. And irresistible."

"And full of shit?" She snorted, a soft giggle, and loaded up a hunk of bread with cheese and some sort of shaved beef or venison.

"I'm insulted." He grabbed a slice of meat from the plate and stuffed it into his mouth. "I'm going to go back to my room and cry now."

"Want me to send Nathaniel up to hold you and rub your back?"

"Pass." He loaded up a piece of bread like she had done and took a bite. "Hey, where is Nate anyway?"

"Staying over at his sister's. He's meeting us back here tomorrow morning for the ride back to the Keep."

Their conversation slowed as they concentrated on emptying the platter. Anders studied her as he chewed. It was hard to believe that this was the same person who had been methodically ramming her dagger into Rylock's throat mere hours before.

He swallowed his mouthful. "Can I ask  _you_  something?"

"Ask away." She brushed the crumbs from the surface of the table and took a drink.

"Back there, with Rylock…" Anders paused. "Is that normal for you to… lose yourself, like that? Just so I know when to run screaming in the opposite direction."

She looked at him for a long time before answering. "No." Another moment passed before she spoke again. "It only happens with templars."

"Templars?" He gave her a puzzled glance.

She dropped her eyes and scratched at the tabletop with her fingertip. "When my older sister started showing signs of magic, my parents tried to keep it quiet, and it worked, for a few years. But, it was only a matter of time, and then the fucking templars came for her." Her eyes were as cool as steel when she looked up. "My da fought back. They ran him through."

Maker's balls, he was an ass. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"Don't be. It was a long time ago."

"What was her name? Maybe I knew her."

"Dani." Her voice was hard and quiet, the edge of a blade.

Dani. The little elven girl that the healers had to put to sleep for a week because she wouldn't stop screaming.

"I knew of her, but I didn't really  _know_  her."

She nodded and downed the remainder of her ale. "I think I'm done for tonight," she said as she pushed back her chair and stood up a little unsteadily. "Night, Anders."

"Good night, Commander."

She stopped at the base of the stairs and turned back. "You can stop with the 'Commander' shit any time. It's Neve." She didn't wait for a response and vanished up the stairs.

His phylactery wasn't here. Fuck.

Anders ordered another ale.


	7. Nightmare

**Chapter 7 – Nightmare**

_The rooftop was burning. Puddles of black pitch, each covered with apparitions of flame, dotted the surface like dozens of raging campfires. Neve was lying on top of something hard and ridged, a series of small hills that dug uncomfortably into her back. She shifted slightly and the Archdemon's shattered head loomed into view above her, blotting out the crimson sky. Stretched out as she was across one of its massive claws, like an offering on an altar, she felt, rather than heard, the low growl that rumbled from its chest. Billows of smoke clung to the surface of the roof like tatters of cast-down clouds._

_A low moan broke the muffled silence and Neve lifted her head cautiously. Where there had been nothing but blood-splattered stone before, a couple now lay intertwined; their bodies like embers, the fires all around heating them from within until they glowed. The man lay on his back, writhing beneath the woman who rode him, her long black hair rippling gently as she moved. He groaned and grasped the woman's hips, and the woman shuddered. Her head fell back and the man curled himself up briefly to kiss the exposed column of her throat. His blond hair was golden in the firelight… and what was left of Neve's heart crumbled to ash._

_Neve rolled, dropping to the rooftop with a painful thud. She crawled to the edge and peered down at the battered ruins of Denerim below, where flakes of ash swirled like snowflakes. Standing was difficult, but she managed to draw herself carefully upright. She removed her boots and lined them up neatly, as if she would be returning. The stone scorched the soles of her feet, but she didn't flinch, didn't cry out. The pain in her feet was so infinitely small compared to the other ache that filled her so completely. Neve stepped up to the edge again, her toes curling over the precipice, and stretched her arms out wide. She couldn't resist one final look back and the woman's gaze met hers. Morrigan smiled, wild yellow eyes gleaming as she scraped her fingers across Alistair's chest. He moaned the witch's name as Neve jumped, a graceful dive down to the rocks below, where Riordan's broken body was already rotting._

_She hit something hard but, to her surprise, it wasn't the ground._

_Instead, the air was crushed from her lungs as her ribs smashed against the armored skin of the Archdemon's back. She scrabbled for something to grip as she slid precariously towards its half-shredded wings. Hand over hand, she shuffled slowly up the dragon's long neck, wrapping her legs around its throat as she inched forward while the air rushing past threatened to unseat her. At last, she reached its head, and Neve clutched at the protruding hilt of her sword gratefully as she locked her legs around as best she could. The Archdemon roared its approval as they left Denerim far behind._

oOoOo

_They flew for hours, the wind keening in her ears, high-pitched and mournful. Her exposed skin grew numb and she hung on, frozen and unfeeling, as the landscape went on endlessly below. The blood-red sky over Denerim had faded to black as they traveled, pinpricks of stars glittering coldly. The ground racing by below them was a mirror of the sky, the hushed darkness broken up by the tiny lights flickering in houses and farmsteads. Neve dozed fitfully._

_At last, the great dragon began to drop lower, banking its wings as they looped downwards. The lake came into view first, and then the island with a tower at its center, like a sword bulging out of a broken skull. The Archdemon skimmed low over the surface of the water, mangled bones grinding against each other, and landed roughly on the shoreline. Neve didn't move for a long while, her head still pitching with the absence of movement. Slowly, she peeled her hands from the hilt and tried to move her legs. She slid from her perched position to the ground as the dead weight of her immobile limbs toppled her over._

_Unable to even lift her head, too numb to shiver, Neve lay frozen on the rocks. The Archdemon shifted its weight with seeming impatience before its snout dropped down and the beast exhaled with a loud snort. The gust of warm air made her skin tingle painfully. Feeling came back into her body, pins and needles at first, building until it became an excruciating fire as her nerves screamed. Her breathing was panicked, coming in sharp gasps, as the lances of pain gradually receded. With a tremendous effort, she pulled herself into a sitting position and rested her head against her knees. The dragon whuffed softly and settled its head down on top of its claws, its dead eyes watching her, glittering with a purpose she didn't understand._

_The moon hung in the sky like a lantern, and a finger of its light illuminated a path to the tower's entrance._ This way. _Neve stood up gingerly, nearly losing her balance at first as her legs wobbled beneath her._  Come. This way. _She followed, lining up each foot in the narrow beam as she stepped unsteadily forward. The heavy doors swung open easily, releasing a waft of air that stank of old blood._

_The entranceway was enrobed in blackness, silent and still. She knew this place. She had been here before. Neve's flesh prickled with goosebumps as she took her first tentative steps, sliding her feet across the gritty stone floor. She crept along the long hallway that curved through the apprentice quarters and the smell of blood grew stronger. The shadows here were oppressive and heavy, and she couldn't help glancing nervously at each open doorway she passed, gaping mouths screaming in the walls. When she reached the great staircase, she stopped. The steps led up into a deep dark that even her eyes couldn't penetrate. Neve trembled._

Don't make me go up there. Please. Not there.

_There was a whimper. So tiny, so heartbreakingly quiet, yet it pierced her heart like an arrow._

_She bit down on her lip hard enough to draw blood as the hush filled in around her once more. She strained to hear something other than her own pulse hammering in her ears. It had been nothing; she had imagined it. Her shoulders drooped with relief and she turned away._

_A sob—she froze—no, a child's frightened moan._

No. Please.

_Neve turned back. After a moment's hesitation, she drew in a heaving breath and sprinted up the stairs._

oOoOo

_A long corridor stretched out before her. At the end, a small barred window, impossibly high, allowed in a trickle of moonlight. There was something there. Icy fingers of dread clawed at her neck._

" _Please." A little voice, muffled and gasping._

_She was too far away. She had to get closer. Neve took a step and recoiled at the sensation of something cool and sticky puddled on the floor. She shuddered and stepped forward again. Each wet footprint she left behind carried the sickly sweet smell of decay._

" _Help me."_

_Neve bit back a whimper of her own. There was large shape at the end of the hallway—not a shape, a mound. The soft pleading cries were nearer now. Not much farther. She inched forward and struggled to ignore the pervasive odor of rot that was making her stomach lurch._

" _Please."_

_The odd angles of the pile suddenly coalesced into something recognizable. It was a mass of bodies, limbs askew, eyes wide and unseeing. Some wore robes, others heavy armor; old, young, men, and women—all heaped together._

_A flutter caught her eye. A tiny hand jutted out of the pile on a thin arm like a broken twig. The fingers clenched and unclenched helplessly. She dropped to her knees and clutched the small hand._

" _I'm here, little one." Neve's voice was rusty and hoarse. "I'm here to help you."_

_She let of go of the child's hand and pushed herself up._

" _Help me! Please, don't leave me! Help me, please…"_

" _I'm not leaving. I'm going to get you out. You need to stay calm, okay?"_

_Neve pulled the first body from the top of the mound; its flesh was soft and moist and her fingers sunk easily into the dead tissue, almost like a soft cheese. She dragged it down into the corridor and went back for another. And another. And another. Blood and the fluids of decay dripped across her arms and ran down her legs, the acrid fumes burning her nose and eyes. The floor was slippery and she struggled to keep her balance as another corpse joined the others._

" _Almost there, little one. Hold on."_

" _Hurry, please… hurry."_

_Neve grabbed another leg and yanked. "Just a few more to go. It's going to be all right."_

_She was panting and exhausted when the top of a small head was finally visible. The fingers on the hand were now clawing at the air frantically._

" _One more, just one more." She pulled the body in front of the head away with a groan and two frightened eyes met hers—Neve was rooted to the spot. They were an unnerving shade of grayish blue, like a winter sky before a storm._

" _Dani?" she whispered._

" _Help me, Neve, I'm scared. Please."_

" _Dani!"_

_Neve scrabbled into the pile of bodies and heaved the tiny form out of the mass of flesh. She came free with a sickening squelch, and Neve fell backwards, desperately clutching the blood-soaked girl to her chest. Dani clasped her hands tightly around Neve's neck and sobbed hysterically against her shoulder. Neve rocked her slowly, the side of her cheek pressed into Dani's matted hair, crooning to her softly._

" _Hush, little one, you're all right now."_

oOoOo

_Neve held her until her cries finally subsided into sniffles and hiccups. At last, Dani pushed herself back a little to study Neve's face quizzically. She ran her cold fingers over Neve's cheeks, down the bridge of her nose, over her lips to her chin._

" _You look different," she said._

" _You look the same," Neve whispered. Was her hair still that same sun-kissed blonde beneath the gore that plastered her curls to her forehead?_

" _Have you come to take me home?" Her brow crinkled. "I don't like it here."_

" _I… I don't know. I don't know what I'm supposed to do."_

" _You can't leave me here. You can't!" Dani pulled back and coiled her thin arms around her chest, shaking her head back and forth._

" _Dani, I won't—"_

" _You're the reason I'm here. This is your fault!" Dani's eyes sharpened into a harsh glare. "You took my doll. You made my magic come out and those men saw."_

_Neve swallowed roughly. "I didn't mean to. I didn't know. I just wanted to see it."_

_Dani smiled. A shiver of fear settled in Neve's stomach._

" _We're even now, though." She giggled. "I took something of yours, too."_

_Neve pushed Dani out of her lap. "What did you do? Tell me."_

" _Don't you want to guess?" Dani stood up and bounced on the balls of her feet with a kind of nervous energy._

" _Just tell me, please."_

_Dani's lips softened into a pout and she stamped her foot. "You don't want to play with me." Neve could feel the magic gathering around her: a thundercloud, fierce and ominous._

" _Okay," she whispered, "I'll play."_

_The storm broke and Dani grinned. "Good. It's better this way, you know." She tugged at Neve's hands with her frozen fingers. "I'll give you a hint, if you want."_

_Neve slowly rose to her feet and took the hand that Dani extended towards her. "Okay."_

" _This way." She giggled again. "I'm so glad you're here, Neve. If I can't leave, then maybe you can stay." The whiteness of her teeth glinted in the moonlight as she gave Neve a feral smile._

_Dani led her back the way Neve had come and they threaded through the corpses now strewn haphazardly throughout the corridor. Neve's teeth chattered. The chill from Dani's fingers was seeping through her arm and into her chest. Dani stopped in front of a wide wooden door._

" _Open it!" She pulled enthusiastically on Neve's hand._

_The solid metal handle was surprisingly warm and the door swung open with a soft click. The inside of the room was unlit, but Dani made a quick gesture and the sconces on the walls flared to life. The sudden rush of light was blinding, and Neve closed her eyes. She could feel Dani fidgeting impatiently as she waited for her eyes to adjust._

" _This is the fun part. Open your eyes!"_

 _They were in a sparsely furnished bedroom. A single bed was pushed against one wall with a large chest at the foot of it. A small desk and dresser filled the other wall. A body in green robes was lying at an awkward angle in the middle of the floor, face down on a frayed circular rug._ No. Please.

_Dani skipped inside and crouched next to the corpse. "Are you ready?"_

_Neve took a step back. "I don't want to play anymore." She took another step. "Please, Dani."_

_Dani's face darkened. "No. You owe me. Come here." Her last words were a menacing hiss._

_Neve moved forward, unable to disobey._

" _Turn it over."_

 _Neve gripped the body's narrow waist and heaved._ No _. A small, elven woman with long wavy hair the color of sunlight._ Please _. Her eyes were dull and glassy, but still that unnerving shade of grayish blue, like a winter sky before a storm. The front of her robes were torn and bloody where two daggers protruded from her chest._

_Neve instinctively reached for hers but the sheaths were both empty._

_Dani was watching her closely. "Aw, you found them. I guess the game's over now. Did I make it too easy?"_

_Neve fought back her tears. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You attacked us and I didn't… I didn't realize until it was too late." She dropped to her knees and stared down at her lap. "I'm sorry," she whispered._

_Dani patted her leg. "I wish I could believe you."_

_Neve looked up, startled._

" _But, it's okay, because you're going to stay and play. Right, Neve?" Her hand gripped Neve's leg, tiny fingers digging in painfully._

" _Sure, Dani," she said carefully, "I'll stay." Her eyes flicked to the daggers._

" _Good." Dani's eyes narrowed thoughtfully._

" _Let's play hide-and-seek. You go hide, okay? I'll count."_

_Dani nibbled on her bottom lip for a moment. "All right."_

_Neve closed her eyes and began._

" _One… two… three…" Dani's light footsteps grew fainter. Neve peeked quickly before she stood up._

" _Four… five… six…" She yanked her daggers free and wiped the blades on the body's robes._

" _Seven… eight…" Neve crept to the doorway and stared into the darkness, daggers drawn and ready._

" _Nine… ten. Ready or not, here I come!"_

_She bolted for the stairs. An outraged shriek erupted from the pile of corpses at the end of hall._

" _You promised! You said you'd stay!"_

_She was almost to the bottom of the stairs when Dani tackled her from behind. The momentum threw her off balance and she tumbled down the rest of the way, swinging her daggers deftly away from her body as she fell. There was a sharp lance of pain as Dani bit down hard on her shoulder._

" _You lied! I hate you!"_

_Neve rolled, pinning the small figure beneath her. Dani's power was surging and it made Neve's skin burn. She pressed a dagger against her throat._

" _Please, Dani, don't make me. Please, I can't."_

_Dani stared at her defiantly. "Do it."_

_Neve's hand trembled. "I can't." Her dagger dropped away. "I won't."_

_Dani spit in her face. "Coward."_

_Neve rolled onto her side and curled her knees into her chest. Tears rolled down her cheeks and onto the floor._

_Dani kicked her in the back. "Get up. Let's play, sister."_

_Neve didn't move._

" _I said, get up!"_

_Neve's sobs echoed on the stone._

_Dani picked up one of the daggers from the floor. "If you don't want to play with me," she said as she sliced her palm open neatly, "then I'm going to play with you."_

_A wave of magic swept over Neve, boiling her blood from within, and she screamed._

_She screamed for a long time._

_Dani smiled._


	8. Homeward Bound

**Chapter 8 – Homeward Bound**

It was still so dark.

_Please._

_No._

Someone was screaming. No,  _she_  was screaming. Suddenly, a hand closed over her mouth and it was a struggle to breathe. Neve bit down on the fingers pressing into her lips and there was a sharp yelp. She opened her eyes in a panic only to see Anders standing at the side of her bed. He was shirtless, dressed only in his sleeping trousers, clutching his hand tightly against his chest.

"Maker's balls, Commander! You didn't have to bite me!"

She had to fight the instinct to leap out of bed and search the room. Neve drew in a shuddering breath. "Anders?"

He shook his hand with a grimace. "No blood, at least, although you certainly tried hard enough." He walked back to the door and muttered to someone in the hallway.

Her clothes were drenched with sweat and she sat up with a shiver.  _The Tower. Dani._

Anders walked back over to the bed and lit the candle next to it with the faintest puff of magic.

"Why are you here? Was I—"

"Screaming like you were being murdered? Yeah, more or less." He rubbed his hand again.

"Sorry." Neve wiped her forehead. "My dreams are… bad." Her heart rate was slowly returning to normal.

Anders sat down gingerly at the end of the bed. "Mine are bad too, but nothing like that."

"They say they're worse when you join during a Blight." She hesitated. "Mine were always bad, but since the Archdemon, they've gotten worse."

"Is that why you had enough sleeping draughts with you to take out all of Amaranthine?"

"Pretty much." She smoothed out the edge of the blanket with her fingers.

"And one of those wasn't enough?" He looked at her incredulously.

She glanced up. "It was enough to put me to sleep, but not to keep me from dreaming, no."

"Hmmm…" He lapsed into thought and she found herself studying the way the candlelight brought out the ridges of muscle in his chest. He was surprisingly well-built for a mage.

He turned his head to look at her and she rapidly shot her gaze back up to his face, hoping that the room's shadows were enough to hide the pink that had crept into her cheeks. Judging from the smirk he was giving her, they weren't.

"I think I could probably make you something better than those. I'd need to pick up a few things before we leave, though." He stood up and stretched languidly.

Neve hiked the blankets up to cover her shoulders, even though she was sweltering. "Sure, that shouldn't be a problem."

"You know, I seem to be finding myself in your room an awful lot lately…" Anders reached both arms behind his head and stretched again, intentionally flexing his chest.

"Fuck off, Anders." She grinned. "If I had something to throw at you, I would."

"So, throw yourself at me." He gave her a wink.

"I'd sooner make a play for Oghren."

Anders threw his hand dramatically across his forehead. "I'm wounded."

"Good thing you're a healer then, isn't it?"

"Fuck off."

"You, fuck off." She snorted. "Get out of my room, Anders."

"All right, all right, I'm going." He lingered at the doorway. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah. I usually only have one bad one a night, so I should be fine."

"Good night, then."

"Night."

He pulled the door shut behind him. After a moment, Neve pushed back the blankets and got up to re-throw the bolt. She lay back down on the bed, not bothering to pull the covers back up over herself. It was a long time before she fell asleep again.

She left the candle burning.

oOoOo

After a late breakfast, Neve and Anders gathered their packs and set out for the market district. It was cold and drizzly, the overcast sky like a grumbling frown overhead. Neve pulled her cloak more tightly around her shoulders as the droplets spattered down, bringing with them the memories of too many wet nights spent chilled and chattering. She left Anders at the apothecary's stall with a handful of coins—his eyes had been unable to contain his glee at the sight of it—and then hurried to collect Nathaniel. As she rounded the corner, she saw that he was already waiting for her.

Nathaniel and Delilah stood huddled under the shop's awning where it was mostly dry. Seeing them together, there was no mistaking the resemblance between the two.

"Commander," Nathaniel said, giving her a small smile. "I assume we're ready to go?"

Neve nodded to both of them and returned the smile. "More or less."

"Take care of yourself, okay?" Delilah said as she threw her arms around Nathaniel and pulled him into a tight embrace.

"You, too. Make sure Albert waits on you hand and foot."

She chuckled as she stepped back, still holding his hands in hers. "No, he does it too much already. I hope you'll come back and see us again soon. Well, whenever you're in Amaranthine again, anyway." Delilah glanced shyly at Neve.

"Of course," he said. "Although, you could come to Vigil's Keep, if you wanted." He looked at Delilah hopefully.

Neve cleared her throat, conscious of interrupting their closeness. "Nathaniel's right. We're trying to bring more merchants to the Keep."

Delilah met her eyes briefly before glancing back to Nathaniel with a hesitant smile. "I'll talk to Albert about it. I promise."

"Good, because I'm looking forward to meeting my new little niece or nephew."

"Well, it's not going to be for a while yet." She ran her hands lovingly over the telltale bump that was just beginning to show.

Nathaniel pressed a kiss to her cheek. "It was so good to see you."

"You, too."

Nathaniel adjusted his pack on his shoulders. "I'm ready, Commander."

Delilah gave her a bashful nod and slipped back into the house. As they walked up the street, Nathaniel turned to wave at her through the window before giving Neve a quiet grin.

"You had a good visit?"

"It was more than I ever imagined. To see her again, after thinking she had died, after all this time." He paused, and then stopped walking. "Listen, Commander, I owe you an apology."

"For what?" She stopped, too, and turned to look at him.

"For the way I acted earlier. I blamed you for my father's death, and I… I had no idea that he really had become so twisted. Delilah told me about what happened while I was in the Free Marches, how she couldn't wait to get away from him." Nathaniel cleared his throat. "In some strange way, what you did freed her from a miserable future, and I'm grateful. I don't think I've ever seen her so happy. My father was… not an easy man to live with."

She remembered the feel of the Arl, his back pressed tightly to her chest. The sour stench of his fear as she slit his throat. The warmth of his blood gushing down over her arms. The delicious sense of satisfaction as he crumpled at her feet.

Neve kept her expression neutral. "I wish I could say that I was sorry for killing him, but… I can't." Nathaniel steel grey eyes held hers. "He deserved the death I gave him. I wish I could tell you something different, but it would be a lie. I'm sorry."

Nathaniel looked down at the ground where small puddles were beginning to form before finally meeting her eyes once more. "I am… at peace with that now. "

Neve wasn't sure what more to say, so they stood there awkwardly for a moment as she aimlessly adjusted the straps of her rucksack across her shoulders. She shrugged. "Well, let's go find Anders, before he spends all my money."

oOoOo

The storm was beginning to pick up when they reached the apothecary's stall, raindrops drumming rhythmically on the awnings.

"—and five of the small pipettes as well."

Anders and Master Henley were deep in conversation as Neve and Nathaniel hurried to join them, eager to be out of the rain if only for a moment. Judging by the enthusiastic smile on the apothecary's face, Anders had probably just dropped a shitload of coin.

"Neve! Nate, ol' boy, I've missed you!" Anders gave Nathaniel a friendly slap on the back before he could flinch away.

"Here you are," Henley passed Anders several carefully wrapped packages, which he then tucked carefully away in his pack. "I'll send the request for the other herbs and glassware to my man in Denerim. When he comes through in the next few weeks, I can have him drop your supplies off right at the Keep, if you'd like?"

"That would be perfect! Thanks so much!" Anders turned to Neve and gave her a wide grin. "All set. Oh, these are yours," he said and he handed her several copper coins.

She looked at them with a sigh. "That's all that's left, I take it?"

He shrugged apologetically. "It wouldn't have been so bad if the laboratory room at the Keep had been better maintained. Most of the herbs there are too old now to be at full potency and a good portion of the lab supplies were damaged as well."

"Well," she said, "I suppose it can't be helped." This effort was for her benefit, after all. "Let's go get the horses before the rain gets any worse."

oOoOo

The ride back to the Keep was long and wet, with the wind in their faces most of the way. Sharp currents of air whipped raindrops into their eyes, making it hard to see. Thankfully, Nathaniel was familiar enough with the route and the terrain that they were able to stay mostly on course. Neve halted them once when she sensed darkspawn nearby, but the creatures receded into the storm before she could pinpoint their location. She clutched the reins as her horse trotted along patiently, seemingly unaffected by the squall. It had taken a long time for her to become even a competent rider, and she still held a distinct loathing for the whole process.

Her thoughts kept creeping back to Dani as she rode. Neve was forced to admit to herself that her dreams were getting worse, more frightening and warped. She shuddered. If she let herself drift a little, she could still feel those cold fingers tugging on hers. Hopefully, Anders would be able to come up with something that worked. She nudged her horse to keep up with Nathaniel's as another rush of wind made her wobble uncomfortably in her saddle.

Then, there was Alistair… when had everything become such a colossal fuck up? Her nagging feelings of self-doubt were harder to ignore now that she was alone once more. Had she done the right thing, or just made everything worse? It had been so easy, too easy, to slip back into the way things were. He was the king, she would never be the queen, and she was fooling herself. So then why did her thoughts keep sliding back to how good it had felt to just  _be_  with him? She sighed and lifted her frozen hands to her mouth and blew on them, rubbing them together while trying to not drop the reins. What a bloody mess.

They stopped briefly around midday but, with the weather as miserable as it was, they ate quickly and didn't linger. All of them seemed lost in their thoughts and the murmur of the rain lulled Neve into a sense of brooding complacency. The horses' hooves thundered dully against the wet ground, the jingling of their tack harsh in the muffled rhythm of the rain. It drizzled most of the day and the cold dampness hunkered down into their bones, sucking away their warmth.

The sun was starting to set when they reached the Keep, although it was still completely hidden behind a thick blanket of clouds, and dusk was slowly settling over the landscape like a shadowy fog. Neve's side ached from the constant jostling of the ride but she found herself strangely happy when the tall stone walls that encircled the Keep came into view.

They cantered into the courtyard and dismounted gratefully. The grass looked slightly greener than when they had left and Voldrik's men had clearly made some progress in their repairs of the stonework. Daron met them near the stables and took their horses with a friendly nod.

"Ah, it's nice to be home," Anders said as he stretched his arms above his head. "Such as it is."

The rain had dwindled into sporadic droplets and Neve pushed back the hood of her cloak. As they walked back towards the Keep's main doors, a tiny whimper made her suddenly freeze in fear. "Did you hear that?" It wasn't Dani. That had just been a dream. It wasn't real.

"Hear what?" Nathaniel asked.

Anders shook his head. "I didn't hear anything."

Neve pivoted in place, listening. The wind was gusting around the walls, making it harder to pick up anything. There it was again. "There! Did you hear that?" She stalked towards one of the stone outer walls where the dried grasses from the previous year still stood tall. It wasn't Dani. There was no way. Her heart was skittering frantically.

With Anders and Nathaniel close behind, she waded into the tall grass. Something small and orange leapt at her boot and she jumped, and then began to laugh.

"What's so funny?" Anders asked.

"Nothing. Just this." She reached down and scooped up the bedraggled ball. "Look! It's a kitten!" The kitten mewed pitifully and curled into her chest as she stroked its ragged ears. "Poor little thing. I wonder how long he's been out here."

Anders reached out and rubbed the kitten's tiny head. "Aw, look at him. He's so tiny! Can I hold him?"

Nathaniel smirked as Neve handed the kitten over to Anders. "Does this one talk, too, or is that just your horse?"

Anders stopped mid-nuzzle to give Nathaniel a glare. "Don't listen to him, kitty. He's just jealous because he hasn't been this close to a pussy in a very long time."

Neve snorted with laughter. "Anders, you're an ass."

"Seconded." Nathaniel gave her an amused smile.

"I wish we could keep him." Anders sighed as the kitten erupted into a loud purr at his ministrations.

"Why can't you?" Neve asked. "He can stay at the Keep. I don't see why it would be a problem."

"Really?" She couldn't help smiling as Anders studied the kitten closely. "I'm going to call you Ser-Pounce-a-lot!"

"Ser-Pounce-a-lot? Isn't that name a little… ridiculous?" Nathaniel asked.

"What do you think I should call him? Frederick?" The kitten gave a small yowl of protest as Anders stopped massaging his ears.

"There are worse names, I suppose," Nathaniel said.

Neve stepped out of the grass and stamped the water from her boots. "Come on, let's get inside. I'm starving."

oOoOo

Neve stopped short as they entered the main hall. Oghren sat at the dining table, a half-full tankard in front of him. If possible, his beard and hair looked even more unkempt than usual. He hadn't bothered to don his armor and his shirt was dotted with smears and grease stains. The stale smell of drink somehow managed to permeate the entire room and the three of them exchanged concerned glances. Oghren was staring sullenly into his mug, but glanced up with bleary eyes as they entered.

He grunted. "So, you're back then. Good."

Neve looked at Anders and Nathaniel. "Why don't you two go get dried off and get some food?"

"Yes, I'm sure Ser-Pounce-a-lot would like something. Wouldn't you, my little kitty?"

Nathaniel recognized the note of dismissal in her voice. "Of course, Commander. Call us if you need anything."

As Anders and Nathaniel disappeared down the hallway, Neve took off her wet cloak and draped it over one of the chairs before pulling out the chair next to Oghren and sitting down. He stank like he'd been sitting here drinking since they left. "So, " she said as she sat back and stared at him, "do you want to talk about it before you pickle yourself?"

"Eh. She left."

"Felsi? What happened?"

"She's sodding furious at me for leaving the army and joining the Wardens. She thought I'd be happy sitting around and playing house, and I tried. But, that's just… not for me. I belong here." He drained the rest of his ale and belched. "After the nugget arrived, I just couldn't pretend anymore. Felsi knew that, even if she didn't want to admit it."

"Nugget?" Her eyes narrowed. "You mean you and Felsi have a child… and you never told me?" Neve sat forward and slammed her palm on the table. "I would have never put you through the Joining if I'd known."

Oghren glared at her. "Why do you think I didn't tell you?"

"You could've died! How would that've been when Felsi showed up here looking for you?"

"Fels is a survivor. She would've been fine. She will be fine. Better off without me, anyhow."

"Maybe  _she_  will be, but you have a fucking kid, Oghren! You can't just do whatever you feel like. You're a father, for fuck's sake!"

"Sod off, it's none of your sodding business," Oghren lurched to his feet, "unless you want me to start ripping into your love life, Commander?"

Neve stood up and pressed both hands flat against the table and leaned forward into his face, ignoring the reek of sweat and alcohol. "You want to fucking start something? Go ahead."

"Fine. You want to know what ol' Oghren thinks? Stop me if you've heard this before. The little pike-twirler stomps all over you for months before deciding he's suddenly  _so_  sodding lonely without you—never mind what that nughumper put  _you_ through. And now he's gone, again, until the next time he wants a good fuck—"

Neve smashed her fist into Oghren's jaw and he staggered back. "Fuck off, Oghren. You have no idea what it's like."

He rubbed his jaw for a moment and spit a gob of blood on the floor. "Don't I? I had the pleasure of killing my own wife after she went completely sodding crazy, in case you've forgotten. Don't pull that shit with me, Commander."

"You don't think this is worse? To have what you want dangled in front of you for the rest of your life, but you can't have it? Don't you fucking judge me. You think I  _want_  to be Alistair's fucking mistress?" She spat out the last word venomously.

"You want to have a go at me, Commander? Huh? Bring it." Oghren glowered at her.

"Let's go. Outside." Neve drew her daggers and laid them down on the table.

"Heh. You're on."

They marched out of the keep, ignoring Varel's wide-eyed expression, and into the wet night. The sun had fully set now, and the courtyard was cloaked in shadow. A few flickering torches sputtered and smoked beneath the overhanging stone as they made their way to the training yard. The ground in the yard was wet and muddy after the day's rain and Neve tested her traction as she strolled out into the open space in the middle.

"C'mon then! Let's go!" She dropped back into a defensive stance and waited.

Oghren sauntered closer and cracked his knuckles. "Like you can take me, elf."

"A fucking nug could take you right now. You're so pissed you can hardly stand."

"I'm gonna break you like a twig." He growled as he charged forward at a full run.

She danced out of the way easily."You can do better than that. Come on!"

Neve turned to face him, braced for another charge, but he held his ground this time.

"Think you're so tough, eh? Come face me like a man. Heh." He rubbed his hands together eagerly.

She hesitated for a moment—there was no way she could beat him at straight hand-to-hand—before the idea struck her. Neve reached down and grabbed a handful of cold, sticky mud and lobbed it at him. It struck him squarely in the face with a hard smack.

Oghren gaped at her for a half second before he reached down for a mud ball of his own. "You wanna play dirty? Well, that's just how I like it." His missile struck Neve in the shoulder, narrowly missing her face, as she ducked down to grab another handful of muck.

"You're going down, dwarf!" She threw it at him and immediately stretched down for more.

Oghren wiped at the mud that was streaming into his eyes and dodged to the left. His next throw got her in the back of the head.

The barrage of mud lasted until they were both completely covered and too exhausted to stand. Neve flopped down into the sludge and rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes, not that it helped.

"You're a fucking asshole, you know that, right?" Neve pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them with a shiver. Her side had gone from a dull ache to outright throbbing now and she fitfully stretched her back from side to side.

Oghren guffawed. "And you're a cold-hearted bitch, what's your point?" He dropped down next to her and she threw an arm over his shoulders. She leaned her head against him and they sat together as the cold breeze dried the mud on their skin.

"You know, this would be totally hot if I was here with anyone but you," he said at last.

"Likewise." She smiled.

Oghren flexed his hands and huge flakes of dried mud peeled away. "What do you think I should do then? Since you know everything."

Neve shrugged. "I don't know. Invite Felsi here?"

"Nah, she'd never come. She loves that sodding lake for some reason." He sighed. "Maybe I could visit once in a while, write some letters. That's the least I could do… as a father. And hey, maybe the little one will grow up thinking Daddy's a great hero."

"You know, you haven't even told me if it's a boy or a girl." Her ass was starting to go numb and she shifted uncomfortably.

"Heh. Girl. Cutest little thing. Almost too bad we named her after you."

She sat up and looked at him. "You didn't."

"Yup. My little Nevie." Oghren beamed with fatherly pride.

"Ugh." Neve stood up with a groan and the mud made a horrific squelching noise at it released her. "I'm fucking freezing. I need a bath and food and a bed." She offered a hand to Oghren.

He took her hand and pulled himself up. "You forgot a drink."

"I think you've had enough in the past few days for both of us." Neve rubbed her arms briskly and shivered again.

"Eh, you may be right. And, coming from me, that's saying something." Oghren stopped as they reached the steps that led to the main doors of the Keep. "So, what are you going to do about the pike-twirler?"

"I don't know—nothing for now. I don't even know when he's coming back. The whole thing is just so fucked up. Sometimes, I think it would have been easier if one of us had just died that night." She pushed a hand through her hair and crumbles of dried mud fell into her face.

"Well, don't let it go to your head or anything, but I'm glad you didn't, for what it's worth."

"Are you going soft on me?" Her eyes widened in mock surprise. "Why, Oghren, I had no idea how much you cared!"

He glared at her. "Oh, sod off. You know, this is why I don't bother trying to be nice."

Neve smothered a giggle. "Let's go inside. I'm cold."

oOoOo

Varel clutched the envelope tightly in his hands and waited, pacing back and forth. Surely, the Commander would want to see this as soon as she was back. At least she had managed to get Oghren away from the keg. What were they doing out there, anyway?

The doors swung open and Neve and Oghren ambled inside, leaving a trail of mucky footprints behind. They were covered. In mud. It was… everywhere. He stopped mid-step as the Commander straightened and addressed him.

"Pardon me, Varel, but could you arrange to have baths drawn in both of our rooms, please?"

"I, uh, of course, Commander."

"Oh, and food would be good, too." She collected her daggers from the table. "Sorry about the mess."

"Uh, it's fine. No problem."

"Great." She smiled. "Night, Oghren."

"Night, Commander."

He didn't want to know. The letter from Weisshaupt could wait until morning.


	9. Candidates

**Chapter 9 – Candidates**

Arl Teagan strode up to the door of the king's office and knocked sharply. Alistair had stormed out of the Landsmeet session this morning—not that he could blame him—after yet another round of inane demands from Ferelden's nobility. He had only been at the palace for a month, but it already felt like far longer. Eamon had been furious when he'd accepted Alistair's offer, but he couldn't just leave the poor boy here to figure it out by himself, could he? Eamon would cool off after a while; he always did.

"Come in, Teagan," said the aggravated voice from within.

Teagan opened the door and stepped into the room.

Alistair turned his head to look at him. "I knew it would be you." He was sitting in a chair behind an ornately carved wooden desk, and his head lolled against the high plush backing.

"Well, that could have gone better." Teagan walked over to the sideboard and poured himself a small glass of brandy. "You want one?" he asked, raising the flask.

"No thanks."

Teagan cradled his glass in his hand and took the seat opposite the desk. Alistair leaned forward with a sigh and rested his arms on its aged surface. "What am I supposed to do, Teagan? I don't know what I'm doing. Denerim's still a mess—Maker, the whole country is a mess—and I can't get the Landsmeet to agree to anything useful. Maybe I should just give the throne back to Anora and be done with it." Alistair sank down further into his chair.

"You know as well as I do that's not an option." Teagan took a sip of his brandy. "You need to beat them at their own game. It's a delicate balance between giving them what you were already prepared to give and making them think that they've wrenched it out of you."

"I know, I know. I'm just… no good at all this pretending."

"Do you want my honest opinion?"

Alistair leaned back. "You know I do. I need all the help I can get."

Teagan drained his brandy and set the empty glass on the desk. "Get married, the sooner the better. Get your queen with child and secure the line." He cut off Alistair's murmur of protest with a sharp look. "The nobles don't feel safe. That's why they're all trying to grab as much for themselves as they can right now. They're all just waiting for the next disaster to drop in our lap."

"So, me getting married, that's going to make them feel all soft and cuddly inside, is it?"

"I don't think you can afford to put it off much longer."

"All right, so how do we go about doing this? Do they line them all up and then I'm supposed to just pick? 'Oh, you look like you have nice child-bearing hips. I'll have that one, please, but keep the others around in case she doesn't work out.'"

Teagan shrugged. "At least you're getting some say in it. You could have been betrothed as a baby, like Cailan was with Anora, and had no choice at all."

"Wow, I can hardly wait. Since it doesn't matter anyway, why don't  _you_  just pick someone? Then, the lucky lady and I can spend the afternoon together and get married." He paused and tapped a finger against his chin. "Oh, wait, I forgot. There's no time for the afternoon together first. Straight to the chantry it is, then."

Teagan rubbed a hand over his jaw. "Look, I know this isn't what you want, but what do you expect me to do about it? Whining and moaning isn't going to make this go away."

"No, but it is making me feel better."

"Really? You could've fooled me."

"Well, all right, not really. I still think Anora's an option."

"What? As your bride? That's not a terrible idea—"

Alistair threw up his hands. "No! No, no, no… I meant her as queen. Without me."

"Not an option." Teagan sighed and rose to refill his brandy.

"Okay, then you choose. I just have to show up at the appointed hour, right?"

Teagan poured himself a significantly larger amount than his first glass and leaned against the sideboard. "As convenient as that would be, no. Everyone needs to have an equal opportunity or we won't hear the end of it. We'll need to throw a ball or a banquet where all of the nobles have an opportunity to present their candidates."

Alistair huffed lightly under his breath. "Is that what they're called? 'Candidates?' Why not just call them sides of beef?"

Teagan smothered an exasperated sigh by taking a large swig of his brandy. "Then you can decide who you would like to meet with privately to determine which match would be the most successful."

"You mean I might get to learn her name first?"

King or not, Teagan was ready to haul Alistair up by the edges of his doublet and shake him. "Look, I know you're not happy about this, but this is how it is. If you don't start figuring out how to make the best of it, you might as well just give up now. Abdicate the throne. Start another civil war and send Orlais an invitation to the party. Who cares what Ferelden needs as long as you're happy, right?"

Alistair slumped down miserably. "I'm sorry, Teagan. I just don't know how to deal with… all of this."

"I know."

"All right," Alistair said quietly, his eyes still cast downward. He traced a pattern on the desk's surface with his finger. "Can you make the arrangements?"

"Of course." Teagan nodded and set his glass down on the sideboard. "It'll be fine. You'll see."

Alistair glanced up. "I hope so. I really do."

Maker help him, Teagan hoped so, too.

oOoOo

Alistair ran the comb through his hair again and studied his reflection. It would have to do. He was probably late already, although Teagan hadn't come looking for him yet, so it couldn't be that bad. He settled the heavy crown on the top of his head with a sigh. There. He was the king. His clothes had been made especially for tonight, courtesy of Teagan, and he had almost been afraid to touch them at first. Richly hued purple silks and velvets, embroidered gold thread and tiny gemstones. The whole thing probably cost enough to feed a family for a year or more. It was such a waste.

"Your Majesty, are you ready?" Teagan stuck his head around the corner. "So, what do you think?"

"I think I look ridiculous." Alistair tugged at the edges of the long velvet jerkin, pulling it down as far as it would go. "Men should not wear tights. It's unnatural."

Teagan coughed—to hide his laughter, Alistair suspected. "You look fine. It's the height of fashion this year, apparently."

"Then why aren't you wearing them?" Alistair asked as Teagan grabbed his arm and steered him towards the doorway.

"Hmm, oh, well, I wouldn't want to upstage you, now, would I?"

Alistair kept his mouth clamped shut as they walked towards the banquet hall. When this was all over, he was going to make Teagan wear these for a month. At least. Ones with sequins. The thought made him grin just as they paused to be announced at the entrance to the hall.

"His Majesty, King Alistair Theirin." The steward's voice boomed loudly and the conversation in the room dropped to a hush.

"That would be you." Teagan straightened Alistair's collar. "Don't do anything embarrassing."

"You mean, besides what I'm wearing?" Alistair gave his jerkin a final yank and straightened as he stepped through the doorway into the banquet hall.

Two long tables filled most of the room, with a smaller table set up on a dais at the end. As Alistair made his way down the path between the tables, people dropped to one knee and bowed their heads in a wave that rippled through the crowd as he passed. He clenched his teeth and nodded ambivalently to each side until he reached the smaller table.

"My hearth is yours, my bread is yours, my life is yours. For all who walk in the sight of the Maker are one. Sit, friends, and let us feast together," he said, intoning the traditional greeting. Alistair smiled with a false warmness, his public mask firmly in place, as he stretched out his arms in a gesture of welcome before taking his seat at the center. At least he was getting better at this part of it.

The nobles relaxed and the murmur of voices resumed as they all took their places at the other tables. Teagan joined Alistair at the small table, giving him a slap on the shoulder as he sat down. "Well done," he whispered. "Now, relax and enjoy yourself."

_Yeah, right._

The first servants appeared and each dish was presented to the king before being distributed amongst the tables. Alistair lost count of the number of courses—roast duck glazed with oranges from Antiva, pastries shaped like delicate birds stuffed with cheese, tiny fillets of fish sprinkled with herbs, tureens of soup bulging with dumplings. Alistair picked at his plate, shuffling things around until a servant appeared to replace it with yet another costly delicacy. How many buildings could he have rebuilt with what this had cost? The Alienage was still a ruin, with many still homeless, and he hoped to have it repaired before Neve came to Denerim again. Whenever that was going to be. Probably for his wedding. He choked on the bite of biscuit that was in his mouth and gulped down a mouthful of wine.

"You all right?" Teagan asked.

Alistair coughed again. "Fine. I'm fine."

More courses came and went until, finally, plates of fruit and sweet buns, tiny colorful morsels of cake, and buttons of bittersweet chocolate were laid out. A pleasant hum of discussion filled the hall, punctuated by the quiet clinks of cutlery. Ignoring the desserts in front of him, Alistair fiddled with the tablecloth until Teagan's glare made him drop it abruptly. He went to push his hand through his hair, but stopped when he touched the coolness of the crown that he now bore without thinking. Right. The king. His stomach was bunched up, not unlike the tablecloth, and he forced himself to draw in a breath as he leaned in towards Teagan.

"So, when are you going to tell me who I'm actually here to meet?"

Teagan wiped his mouth with his napkin and set it down next to his plate. "They'll be presented to you before the dancing begins. There aren't as many as there should be, but with the Blight having taken so many, our options are somewhat limited."

Alistair managed a nod and wished he had decided not to eat anything at all. The thought of being curled up in the straw listening to the soft whickers of the horses had never been more appealing. He poked his fork into the remnants of his fish and wondered what Neve was doing now. What he would give to be there now, at Vigil's Keep, an ordinary Warden, instead of dealing with all this pompous foolishness. The flakes of fish disintegrated under the unyielding barrage of his fork's tines. They would sit together by the fire in the main hall, cleaning their armor and weapons, and she would laugh at his teasing. She would rest her hand lightly on his thigh after she had finished, the touch carrying an unsaid whisper of things to come. Alistair sighed and dropped his fork onto his plate.

At last, the tables were cleared and Teagan gestured at him to bring the meal to a close.

Alistair cleared his throat as he stood up. "Rise, friends, let us adjourn and partake of the festivities that have been so kindly arranged for us." He nodded once at Teagan, and then stepped down from the dais and slowly made his way back along the row between the tables. He couldn't help glancing at the faces as he walked past; one of the women here tonight was going to be his bride. Oh, Maker…

It was a relief to cross through the doorway and escape, however briefly, from the calculating stares. Teagan appeared behind him just as he was brushing the crumbs from his jerkin. "Ready, your Majesty?"

"I suppose," he said, and he wiped his palms on the tops of his leggings. "Let's do this."

The palace's large ballroom was only a short walk from the banquet hall, barely giving Alistair time to collect himself. Opulent chairs circled the outer walls, broken up by tables laden with drinks and even more food. The marble floor was inlaid with an intricate pattern of various colors that was almost dizzying in its complexity. A handful of musicians were busy tuning their instruments as he entered, though they abruptly stopped to drop down and bow deeply to him.

"Stand, please. Thank you," Alistair said, giving them a nod. He hesitated and turned to Teagan. "Now what?"

"Now, we stand here by the doorway so that you can greet everyone as they enter. It's really no different than any of the other engagements you've done. You'll be fine." He patted Alistair's arm kindly.

"Yeah, except that those engagements didn't lead to… actual engagements."

The musicians began to play just as the first sounds of conversation drifted towards them. Alistair rubbed his sweaty palms on his jerkin and straightened his shoulders. Right. He could do this.

The first two to enter were the new Teyrn of Highever, Fergus Cousland, and a woman he didn't recognize. Had Fergus remarried already? He racked his brain quickly and worried that he was about to stick his foot in it. Teagan rescued him, Maker bless that man, and for once, Alistair was glad for all the ridiculous formalities his position afforded.

"Your Majesty, may I present Teyrn Fergus Cousland," Fergus bowed his head, "and his sister, Lady Elissa Cousland, who is being formally presented this evening." So, this was the first one. He looked at her more closely as she raised herself from her curtsy.

She and Fergus shared the same dark brown hair and eyes, but her build was tiny, almost elf-like. Her hair was swept up off her neck in an elaborate fashion and dotted with pearls and flowers. Alistair took her gloved hand and pressed a formal kiss to the tips of her fingers.

"A pleasure, my lady."

Her eyes met his for the briefest moment as she regarded him coolly, and then her gaze dipped down again to the floor. "The pleasure is all mine, your Majesty."

Teyrn Cousland and Lady Elissa nodded to Teagan as well as the next group stepped forward to be introduced.

"Your Majesty, may I present Arl Leonas Bryland," Teagan said, and Alistair smiled at the Arl warmly, "Arlessa Octavia Bryland, and their daughter, Lady Habren Bryland, who is being formally presented this evening." Alistair's eyes widened in surprise, but he stifled the reaction quickly as he kissed her fingertips as well.

"Thank you, your Majesty." Habren's curtsy was slow and deliberate, tilting her head forward just  _so_  to allow him the barest glimpse of skin as the neckline of her dress gaped slightly. Her smile as she rose was soft and predatory.

Alistair turned to Teagan as soon as the family had moved away, but he was forced to bite back his retort as the next group took their place. Maker's breath, she was maybe sixteen summers, at most! They couldn't be serious. He swallowed his anger and smiled politely at Bann Ceorlic and his wife and daughter.

"Your Majesty, may I present Bann Aldon Ceorlic, Lady Lenore Ceorlic, and their daughter, Lady Isla Ceorlic, who is being formally presented this evening."

Alistair muttered the appropriate pleasantries, unable to ignore the ambitious glint in Bann Ceorlic's eyes. Lady Isla kept her gaze resolutely on the hem of her dress, her father's arm tucked tightly around hers. As they walked away, Alistair was unconsciously balling the edges of his jerkin into his fists until Teagan graciously stepped on his foot and gave him a menacing glare. Teagan's smile and aura of grace were back on instantly as Bann Sighard and his family stepped forward. Alistair wished he could maintain his public persona so easily. He was sure his frustration and discomfort were etched plainly across his face for all to see.

"—and their daughter, Lady Rosalin Sighard, who is being formally presented this evening." Alistair suddenly realized that he hadn't been paying attention at all. At least he hadn't missed the one name he actually needed to know.

"Lady Rosalin, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," he said, kissing her fingertips.

She blushed profusely. "It's a pleasure to m-meet you, your Majesty."

As they, too, made their way over to the chairs, Teagan leaned his head towards Alistair in order to speak without being overheard. "There you are, your Majesty. One of those four will be our future queen."

Alistair tried not to shudder as the rest of the nobility gradually filed in, their voices echoing in the grandness of the room.

oOoOo

The evening began with a series of courtly dances, and Alistair moved through the steps easily, his mind on what was to come. His first two months after assuming the throne had been filled with lessons of all sorts: etiquette, formal dining, genealogies of the prominent noble families, and, of course, dancing. Arl Eamon had arranged it all, and Alistair couldn't begrudge him the hint of gratefulness that flared up. Maybe he had been too harsh… no, it was too late. No sense second-guessing himself now.

He picked them out in the crowd, the four that would be his partners for the rest of the night. Lady Elissa's small form, almost hidden by the other dancers. Lady Habren's artificial laugh that rose over the music. Lady Isla's downcast eyes, flicking her gaze up quickly before dropping it again. Lady Rosalin, tripping on the hem of her dress and turning red at the ensuing chaos as the dancers around her tried to regain their footing.

With a final flourish from the musicians, the traditional opening dances were finished, and the perfect rows of dancers dispersed into randomness once more. Alistair attempted to make his way over to one of the tables for a goblet of wine, but he was stopped every few feet it seemed by someone wanting to discuss the new tariffs on wool or his thoughts on loosening the current trade restrictions with Orlais. He deflected them all with a polite smile and words that reassured, but promised nothing. When he reached the table, he selected a cup wearily. The coolness of the wine soothed his throat, although it did little for his nerves.

"Ah, there you are!" Teagan emerged from the throng with a broad smile. "All warmed up and ready now?"

"If I say 'no,' can we call it off?" Alistair set his empty goblet down.

Teagan ignored him. "Great! You'll be dancing with each candidate several times, in the order of their rank. Shall I tell the musicians to begin?"

Alistair sighed. "Okay, let's get this over with. Where am I supposed to go?"

"Right there, your Majesty." Teagan gestured to the far wall where the four girls and their families were seated expectantly.

As he made his way across the floor, Alistair wished, once again, that he wasn't wearing this purple monstrosity that Teagan had selected. Lady Elissa was sitting alone and staring resolutely into the crush of people. Alistair cleared his throat quietly and her gaze snapped to his face.

"Your Majesty, my apologies. I didn't realize."

"Please, it's fine." He smiled and extended his hand. "Would you care to dance?" The whole farce suddenly struck him as particularly nonsensical.  _As if she could decline._

"I would be honored, your Majesty," she said. She placed her hand in his and rose elegantly, the skirts of her dress crinkling softly.

The musicians began to play as they reached the center of the floor and Alistair placed his hand chastely at her waist, carefully holding her away from him at a respectable distance. Her other hand rested against his shoulder and the pressure she exuded was so light that he could scarcely feel her touch. Other couples began to fill the floor around them and Alistair relaxed slightly, relieved not to be exclusively on display. Unsure of what to say, he concentrated on keeping them circling gracefully through the motions of the dance. She was small and slight in his arms and he couldn't help the comparison to Neve that crept into his mind. Neve was smaller, but leaner and muscled, held up by an inner core of sheer will. Lady Elissa was a little bit taller, but softer, and, somehow more… fragile. She reminded him of the little sparrows that gathered in the palace gardens; strong enough to fly, but easily broken. She kept her eyes fixed on a spot just above his shoulder, but he happened to catch her quick glance up at his face.

"So, um, how are you finding Denerim?" He forced himself not to groan. Well, that was an astoundingly brilliant question. He would have smacked himself in the forehead had his hands not both been occupied.

Lady Elissa gave him a polite smile, although the corners of her eyes crinkled ever so slightly. "I have not had much opportunity to see the city since my arrival, but I understand from Fergus that the amount of reconstruction required is still quite substantial."

"Yes, it's been difficult trying to balance the need to rebuild with the number of people who are still struggling to survive. The food shortages have forced us to import even more from Kirkwall, Starkhaven, and Tantervale. There are just so many refugees that have come here with nothing."

"I can certainly see how that would be a challenge. I assume you have recruited those with skilled trades among the refugees to assist with the repairs." She studied him thoughtfully.

Alistair nodded. "The sooner they can provide for themselves and their families, the faster we'll be able to restore the city."

"Have you enlisted the Chantry's help as well?"

"We're trying to. I'd like to use them as distribution centers for food, blankets, clothing… anything people are likely to need. Unfortunately, politics seem to get in the way there, too." He sighed. The Grand Cleric in Denerim had been dragging her feet about giving up a share of their coffers to Lothering and a few other towns that had been utterly decimated during the Blight. 'The Maker will provide for them, as he has done for us,' she had declared with a certain smugness of faith that had set his teeth on edge. It had been yet another meeting he had stomped angrily out of, but she was out of the Crown's control and there was little he could do.

The music ended and they stopped moving. Lady Elissa stepped back with a fluid motion and dropped down into a curtsy. "Thank you for the dance, your Majesty."

"The pleasure was all mine." He led her back to the chairs where Fergus and Teagan now stood, deep in discussion. He bowed. "I believe we will be dancing a few more times this evening."

"I look forward to it, your Majesty," she said quietly and he was sure that he saw just a hint of sadness in her eyes before the mask snapped firmly back in place.

Well, that hadn't been as awful as he'd thought.

"Your Majesty," said a voice from behind him, much closer than he would have expected.

He turned to see Lady Habren waiting expectantly. "Ah, Lady Habren." He forced himself to smile as the anger from earlier began to simmer once more. She was sixteen. It was out of the question. "Would you care to dance?"

She grasped his outstretched hand in a tight grip. "I would be delighted." The words were a low, husky whisper, and Alistair was simultaneously amused and horrified.

The music began once more and Alistair couldn't help feeling envious of the crowd around them—carefree and laughing, all enjoying the party. Their king would soon choose a queen and the relief was almost palpable. He positioned his hand on Lady Habren's waist, careful to keep her even further away from him than the formal protocol dictated. Her hand was a caress on his shoulder. Unlike Lady Elissa, she kept her eyes firmly locked on his. She was tall, almost the same height as he was, so it was difficult to look anywhere but directly into her face. He had the strangest feeling that he had seen her somewhere before—some other court function, perhaps, but he didn't think so…

"So, your Majesty, would you like me to tell you about myself?" She licked her lips and he had to suppress a shudder.

"Of course, Lady Habren. There's nothing I would enjoy more."  _Except maybe kissing a hurlock._

It wasn't long before he thoroughly regretted his response. She prattled on about  _everything_  as he grit his teeth and nodded, trying to ignore the hand at his shoulder that was creeping ever so slowly towards his neck. The heavy floral scent of her perfume was starting to make his head ache. She was going on about puppies now and he abandoned even the pretense of listening, not that she noticed.

It was a moment of blissful relief to return her to Arl Bryland's side, and Alistair tried not to think about the fact that he was going to have dance with her at least twice more. Couldn't he just fight the Archdemon again, instead?

Lady Isla was next, and Alistair managed a civil nod for Bann Ceorlic and his wife as he led her to the dance floor. Her hand was limp in his, like a dead fish, and her gaze remained unflinchingly focused on the floor. All his attempts at small talk fell flat; her replies to his questions were barely audible and limited to 'yes,' 'no,' and a vague shrug. He gave up and they settled into an acutely uncomfortable silence. Thankfully, the chatter and movement of everyone else around them gave him something to focus on besides the hungry eyes of Bann Ceorlic, who leaned against the wall, watching them. The backs of Alistair's heels were beginning to burn. No doubt there would be blisters there by the end of the night. What he wouldn't give to be sparring in the light of a campfire right now, back in his other life, the one that he'd always wanted. How he wished that he could just walk away—no, run away—where she would be waiting for him and he would bury his face in her hair… It took all his strength to keep his expression impassive until the music stopped.

Lady Rosalin was nowhere to be found and Alistair took the opportunity to gulp down another goblet of wine. He was gradually getting better at drinking more without having it all immediately go to his head, but tonight he was grateful for the hint of fuzziness around the edges of his thoughts.

"How are things going?" Teagan had managed to sidle up next to him and he whispered conspiratorially in Alistair's ear.

"Ugh, don't get me started. Lady Habren is  _way_  too young; I don't know what you were thinking. Lady Isla is a step away from qualifying as an inanimate object—no thanks to Bann Ceorlic's fabulous parenting skills, I'm sure—and I have no idea where Lady Rosalin even is." Alistair reached for another glass of wine but Teagan stopped him with a shake of his head.

"I believe Lady Rosalin had an incident with the fruit dip. She should return shortly." Teagan picked up the wine that Alistair had been reaching for and sipped it. "What about Lady Elissa?"

Alistair tugged his infernal jerkin down again. "Well, she seems the most normal of them so far—a bit too serious—but, I don't know how I'm supposed to make this sort of decision based on the handful of sentences we've exchanged. She's probably as completely crazy as the rest of them."  _'Empty-headed inbreds_ ,' the memory of Neve's voice helpfully supplied.

"Here I am, your Majesty. I'm sorry for keeping you waiting." Lady Rosalin rushed up, flushed and out of breath. She was wearing a different dress than before and it didn't seem to fit her properly. She looked as though she had been poured into it; the neckline stretched tightly across her chest.

Alistair smiled automatically, dutifully plastering on the appropriate expression. "No problem at all, my lady. This way."

Several wisps of hair had escaped from her insanely complicated hairstyle and she tucked them behind her ears as they walked. When they reached the dance floor, Alistair flinched as her other hand slipped to his waist. Realizing what she had done, Lady Rosalin turned a furious shade of pink and let out a high-pitched giggle.

"Maker's balls, I'm sorry," she said, moving her hand to the proper spot on his shoulder. "I've been practicing with my little sister because I didn't want to mess up tonight, and she always makes me lead because she doesn't know the steps very well yet." She paused to inhale and crunched down on Alistair's foot as they moved. He admirably bit back his yelp and managed a nod. "I'm just so happy to be here and Suzanna was so upset that she wasn't allowed to come—" Crunch. His other foot this time. "—but then father said that he would bring her back something from the city and that made her stop crying." She looked at him with a flustered expression. "Sorry, I tend to go on."

Alistair laughed, a genuine laugh that made her steps falter. "No, no, please continue."

"Really? No one ever wants me to… All right, well, after we'd left for Denerim, we had to go back because I'd forgotten my—"

Crunch.

It was going to be a long night.


	10. The Illusion Of Choice

**Chapter 10 – The Illusion of Choice**

Alistair viciously tugged off his hideous purple leggings—they stuck and pulled at his leg hair—before dumping them in an unceremonious heap on the floor. He was  _never_  letting Teagan choose his clothing again. The shirt and jerkin joined the pile and he kicked them all under his bed with a deliberate sweep of his foot. He was too exhausted to do much more than pull on his sleeping trousers and collapse into bed. The fire in the hearth had been banked down for the night leaving the room dimly lit.

He exhaled loudly in relief and yanked the covers up over his shoulders as he rolled onto his side. The cool blankets were heavenly against his aching feet and he wriggled his toes appreciatively. Neve's side was empty. She had never even slept in this particular bed, but it was still indisputably  _hers_. Alistair rested his hand against what should have been her pillow. Was she lying there in that same spot so many miles away, right now, thinking of him? His mind ghosted along the starry road to Vigil's Keep, to the bed they had shared, and the drowsy comfort of her tiny form curled into his chest.

As tired as he was, his thoughts jostled and twisted, bumping him with sharp jabs that kept him tossing restlessly. Tomorrow was going to be a continuation of tonight's farce, although thankfully without the dancing and the crowd of people… and the ugly clothes. He'd agreed to a morning ride with Lady Elissa, lunch with Lady Rosalin, and an afternoon meander in the gardens with Lady Isla.  _What could possibly be more fun?_

At least he had managed, after a heated discussion with Teagan, to have Lady Habren removed from the group of candidates. Her smile had that same spider-like quality as Morrigan's; it wasn't  _if_  she was going to devour you some day in your sleep, but  _when_. He rolled over again with a grunt of disgust. Never mind the fact that she was sixteen. He had no idea what Teagan had been thinking with that one.

Alistair fumbled a little as he pulled open the drawer in his nightstand. His fingers found the piece of parchment within and he drew it out and laid it next to him on the bed. He leaned on his bent arm, propping his head up with his hand, and smoothed out the creases. There wasn't enough light to read the words, but he'd read them enough times that he didn't really need to see. Neve's letter had been brief; a trip to Amaranthine, the repairs on the Keep were coming along, Weisshaupt had offered the Fereldan Order a yearly stipend to help them rebuild, darkspawn attacks that were still brutal and random.

Her writing wasn't overly neat, but he knew that each stroke would have been made carefully and deliberately. He remembered, ages ago now it seemed, Neve sitting next to Leliana by the campfire. The way her brow crinkled in concentration, her expression fierce. The painstaking scratch of the quill on the parchment. The cursing. Leliana's gentle voice murmuring corrections and encouragement. More cursing. At the time, how he had wished that  _he_  had thought to show her first, so that it could have been  _his_  shoulder that she leaned against as she practiced.

The details of her letter had been cool and distant, with no mention of his visit or even the question of when he might return. But, she had signed it 'Love, Neve,' despite everything. The blob of ink at the top of the 'L'—she had hesitated there, the tip of her quill resting against the paper as she thought—but, she had chosen to write 'Love.' He couldn't deny the flutter of hope that squeezed his heart.

Maker, how he  _missed_  her. Maybe it had been a mistake to go after her, but he was getting so tired of being told what he could and could not do. But, having had those precious few days, the ache of her absence was more noticeable than ever. He would go again after all this wretched betrothal business was over. Alistair carefully refolded the letter and laid it back in the drawer.

Why did she have to make him king? They could have been there at Vigil's Keep together, rebuilding the Wardens. Instead, he was here, surrounded by people, but lonelier than ever. Except for Teagan and a few others, they all just wanted things from him: reduce these fees, send more guards here, give us more money. No one cared about him for the man that he was, for him as a person rather than just a figurehead. He rolled over to sink his face into the empty pillow next to him. She still loved him. He would cling to that and, somehow, he would get through another day.

oOoOo

Alistair arrived at the royal stables in a mad panic. He was late. Weren't people supposed to wake him up and make sure he was on time to these things? He skidded around the corner in an extremely undignified fashion, stopping short as Teagan, Teyrn Cousland, and Lady Elissa stood staring at him. Teagan shook his head with an exasperated sigh, although his eyes glinted with amusement.

"Your Majesty." Teyrn Cousland bowed deeply.

Lady Elissa murmured the same words and bowed as well. She was dressed in tight fitting trousers of a muted grey with a matching doublet.

"Sorry, I'm late. Shall we?" Alistair gestured at the horses that the stable master was readying across the yard. They had only a few hours before lunch and he was looking forward to the ride and escaping from the confines of the palace, even if only for a short while.

The four mounted their horses with ease and cantered out of the stable yard followed by a small unit of guardsmen. The horses' hooves clattered on the cobblestones as the people in the streets moved aside to let them pass. Few recognized him without the ceremonial armor he usually wore for public appearances, and he was pleased that they were able to gallop through the gates of the city with minimal fuss.

Outside the walls, refugees from Lothering and other towns that had been swallowed by the Blight had constructed a maze of ramshackle housing from any materials they could salvage. These people barely bother to look up as they rode by—they were just more nobles who didn't care. Women filled jugs from a filthy trickle of brown water that ran next to the settlement. Children in tattered clothing dodged and shrieked through the mud, seemingly oblivious to the poverty around them. Alistair's cheeks flushed with shame. He forced himself to unclench his teeth. If he had to get married to get the Landsmeet off their asses and help him  _do_  something about this, then he would. He glanced at Lady Elissa and she met his eyes only briefly, but he saw the horror nearly hidden behind her carefully masked expression.

In sharp contrast, the grasslands outside the city were green and lush with early summer growth, broken up by splashes of pink and yellow flowers. Alistair pressed his horse faster, willing the mare to just run, to take him as far away as she could. Lady Elissa thundered along next to him as Teagan and Teyrn Cousland fell further behind. Her hair was tied back in a loose braid and the wind teased tendrils free to curl around her face.

"Care to race, my lady?" He pointed off into the distance. "To the copse of trees, there?"

She gave him a hint of a grin, her eyes flashing. "As his Majesty wishes." Lady Elissa urged her horse forward, pulling ahead of him easily.

Alistair tightened his grip on the reins and leaned forward. "You're not going to let her win, are you?" he whispered into the mare's ear. She snorted. "Well, then, let's show her what we can do." He tapped the horse's flanks with his heels and her muscles tensed beneath him as they raced to catch up.

He gained ground gradually as they galloped until he was only a length or two behind Lady Elissa. She glanced behind her, and then pulled up lightly on the reins with a barely noticeable movement, allowing him to surge ahead. Alistair felt a twinge of disappointment curl in his gut. She let him win. Neve would have never just  _let_  him win.

She brought her horse down to a trot as the shelter of the trees grew close. Her cheeks were pink from the wind and the exertion of the ride. "That was exhilarating. Thank you, your Majesty."

"No, thank you, my lady, for the win that did not belong to me." Alistair smiled. "I yield to your superior horsemanship." He halted his horse and dismounted. Once she had brought her horse to a stop, he offered her his hand and helped her down as well.

They left the horses to graze as they each drank deeply from their water skins. Alistair flopped down in the grass next to one of the trees. Maker's breath, it felt  _so_  good to be outside and free. The sun was warm overhead with only a few wisps of cloud smeared across the blue sky. The trees were fully leafed now, providing them with some respite from the sun's glare. Lady Elissa sat down in the grass as well, managing to look dignified in a way that he had yet to master. She dropped her gaze to her lap as Alistair struggled with what to say other than:  _Hey, isn't this betrothal business the dumbest thing ever?_

The awkward lull was broken by the arrival of Teagan and Teyrn Cousland. They exchanged greetings as they, too, dismounted, but they rapidly wandered away, giving them the illusion of privacy. All right, he was on his own. He could do this.

Surprisingly, she broke the silence first, just as he opened his mouth to spout some sort of platitude about the weather being unseasonably warm for this time of year. "Thank you kindly for the invitation to ride today, your Majesty. It was a most unexpected and welcome blessing."

Alistair had to choke back a snort. As if they both didn't know the game that was being played here. The whole thing was just  _ridiculous_. He seemed to be using that word an awful lot of late. "The pleasure is all mine, Lady Elissa. I'm happy that you were able to join me."  _Like she'd had a choice._

She glanced up with the hint of a shy smile that could have been genuine before demurely dropping her eyes to her lap.

Alistair leaned back against the tree trunk and wished he was better at these games the nobility played at. If Neve were here, she would just speak her mind. Maybe he should just cut to the chase himself, protocol be damned. How was he supposed to make this sort of decision without even being able to have a proper conversation? He took a deep breath and let his mouth take over for his brain. He was good at that, at least.

"Can I ask you something? I'm sorry if this comes out badly."

She looked at him with a puzzled expression. "Of course, your Majesty. Anything."

"Did you have a say in being put forth as a… candidate?"  _Andraste's flaming sword, how he hated that word._

Lady Elissa's eyes widened slightly and he could almost sense her debating how much to say.

"Please, be honest. You have my word that anything you say will not go any further." Alistair ran his fingers through his hair and hoped he hadn't just made a complete mess of it.

"Well, yes, I suppose I did. Fergus would never force me to do something that wasn't in my best interests."

"And, is being the Queen of Ferelden in  _your_  best interests?"

"The Cousland family has always been loyal to the Crown and Ferelden needs strength and stability to recover." She plucked absently at a blade of grass and pulled it to pieces before meeting his eyes. "If I can help achieve that, in whatever small way I am able, then that is more important than anything else."

The echoes of Arl Eamon's numerous speeches on duty thundered through his head like a runaway horse.

"What would you do if you were free to choose?" The words jumped out his mouth before his brain could stop him.

Lady Elissa gave him another puzzled look. "I have never been free to choose, your Majesty." Another blade of grass met its demise, leaving her trousers flecked with green. "I have been brought up to be an asset to whoever takes me. I speak fluent Orlesian and Antivan. I play several musical instruments. I am proficient with the courtly dances of several nations. I can run a household of nearly one hundred servants. I am familiar enough with Ferelden nobility and politics to speak intelligently on the matter." She listed off each item with a detached matter of factness that was chilling.

Alistair pushed his back into the rough bark, trying to ignore the grumbling voice in his head. He hated these masks they all wore. How was he supposed to know what she was really like when she refused to show him any more than this superficial nonsense? He decided to be blunt. Maker help him if Teagan overheard.

"Can I be honest? I don't care about any of those things. I mean, I do, they're useful and all, but they really don't mean anything to me. You saw the refugee encampment that's sprawled outside the city walls. It's awful and it gets worse every time I see it. But, I can't get the bloody Landsmeet to do anything about it because all they care about is trying to wheedle out more money and resources for themselves. Until I make them feel that the country's not about to fall to pieces, they're not going to do anything for those people." Alistair sighed. "I'm sorry if I offended, my lady."

Lady Elissa looked up at him thoughtfully. "No offense, your Majesty. I appreciate your candor. You're a very curious king, you know that? Nothing at all like I expected."

Alistair plucked a few blades of grass and methodically destroyed them until his trousers matched hers. "Well, don't let it get around, but I have  _no_  idea what I'm doing."

She laughed and he glanced up, startled. "And what makes you think anyone else does?"

"It's just that I wasn't raised in this life, like you were. I spent my childhood in the stables before being sent to the Chantry to train as a templar. During the Blight, N—the Hero of Ferelden—made most of the decisions. I just tagged along, really. Sometimes, I think I'm going to wake up and this will all have been some sort of maddening dream. Or nightmare. I'm not sure which yet."

Lady Elissa crossed her legs and rested her elbows on her knees. "Well, clearly, the Maker intended that you should walk a different path than the rulers before you. You have an advantage that the rest of the nobility don't have. You've travelled all over Ferelden; you've seen how your people actually live. I admit that I was very sheltered growing up. It wasn't until… I had to leave Highever that I had any kind of understanding of what things were really like for most people."

Alistair thought for a moment before he spoke. "Where did you go? During the Blight, I mean. I know about what Arl Howe did… to your family, and I know that both you and your brother were presumed dead until after the Battle of Denerim." He saw the grief that ghosted across her face, despite her efforts to hide it. "If you want to tell me, that is. I don't mean to pry."

She continued to pick at the grass near her feet as she talked. "I left Castle Highever in the midst of Howe's attack. We were all unprepared for what happened. I left them all behind. My father, my mother. Everyone else was already dead." Her voice dropped down to a flat monotone. "I had my mabari with me. He's the only reason I made it to Denerim alive, although he died, too, before I reached the city. I went to the Chantry, I didn't know where else to go or who to trust. I didn't tell them who I was and they didn't care. I was another pair of hands to be used."

Alistair could see the tears gathering. "I'm sorry. Forgive me, please, don't continue. I didn't mean to—"

She wiped the corners of her eyes with her fingertips. "If Fergus hadn't turned up looking for me, I would have stayed, I think."

"Your Majesty?" Teagan's voice startled them out of the moment. "We should start our ride back now."

"Of course, Teagan. Thank you." Alistair brushed the bits of grass from his clothing as he stood up before stretching out a hand to help Lady Elissa up as well. Her hand was cool against his as he pressed his lips briefly against her delicate fingers. It felt strangely intimate and he pulled back as quickly as manners would allow.

"Thank you for the privilege of conversing with you, your Majesty." She bowed her head, but he caught the faintest glimpse of a smile, a real one.

"Thank you for the conversation as well, my lady." He was surprised to find that he actually meant it.

oOoOo

Lunch with Lady Rosalin was an unmitigated disaster, but possibly the most fun he'd had since coming to the palace. She  _never_  stopped talking, and her thoughts blathered out faster than he would have thought possible. He couldn't help wondering if this is what he had sounded like after Duncan had recruited him, when the prospect of being a Grey Warden consumed every thought and every hope. She managed to spill not one, but two different courses all over the elaborately embroidered tablecloth, apologizing all the while.

It was easy to talk freely with her, when he could get a word in edgewise, and it was a welcome distraction. However, as much as he liked her, Alistair had to admit that she wasn't exactly  _queenly_ , unless he was prepared to rule perpetually covered in gravy.

The afternoon with Lady Isla was agony. She seemed to flinch away from his presence as they walked through the gardens, her eyes fixed on the path at their feet. His questions were met with monosyllabic responses that he had to strain to hear. It was as awkward as trying to have a heartfelt conversation with Sten and it took all his fortitude to not run screaming in the opposite direction. At the same time, he couldn't help feeling sorry for her, having Bann Ceorlic as a father. He shuddered. There was no way he was prepared to have  _that_  man as his father-in-law.

Eventually, he gave up on his attempts at small talk and decided just to enjoy the walk. The heat of summer wasn't upon them yet, but the days were warm enough that most of the palace flower beds were in bloom. Ancient trees towered over them and their branches formed a broken canopy over the winding paths, providing patches of shade like puddles in their path. His thoughts wandered in the direction that seemed to be unavoidable these days. With Lady Rosalin and Lady Isla dismissed as prospects, that left only Lady Elissa. It was done. It had to be her. This stranger was going to be his wife, his partner, his lover. He blushed red at the thought and was grateful that Lady Isla was completely oblivious to his discomfort. It could be worse. This was going to be good for Ferelden. He could do this.

oOoOo

Teagan propped his feet up on his desk and leaned back in his chair, folding his hands across his stomach. The latest trade agreement from Antiva lay discarded on his desk as he massaged his temples slowly. It had been a long day. Alistair had done well, though, better than he had expected. Hopefully, he would come to the decision that Teagan wanted without too much more prodding on his part. Where was that boy anyway? He sat up and stretched.

There was a short rap at the door and Alistair entered. Teagan rose to his feet and bowed. "Your Majesty."

"Sit, please, Teagan. Ugh, what a day." Alistair threw himself down in the chair across from the desk.

Teagan dropped back into his seat as well and shuffled the thick pile of parchment towards Alistair. "Here's the new trade agreement that the Antivan ambassador brought. The tariffs on salt are still too high. I was thinking we could persuade them to lower them if we increased the percentage of wool and textiles that we're currently allowing for export. Although, then we'd—"

Alistair cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Can we talk about this tomorrow? I don't think my head can handle any more today."

"Of course." Teagan squared the pile, tapping the edge against the desk. "So, how did it all go today?"

"I don't know. Okay, I guess?" Alistair sighed. "It looks like Lady Elissa is the best option."

"I completely agree, your Majesty." Teagan tried to hide the depths of his elation. At last, the boy was showing some common sense! He'd had a rather desperate bout of nerves this afternoon after hearing Alistair laughing with Lady Rosalin over lunch. Elissa Cousland was the only sensible choice, and he was utterly relieved that Alistair had come to the same conclusion on his own. Fergus had already agreed to the betrothal arrangements, so there would be no lengthy negotiation there.

"What do we do now?" Alistair looked at him, unsure, and Teagan couldn't help seeing the little boy that used to trail after him whenever he came to Redcliffe, with those wide eyes taking everything in.

"Well, I'll let Bann Ceorlic and Bann Sighard down easily, and then make the arrangements with Teyrn Cousland. It would probably be best if you spoke with Lady Elissa yourself, however."

"Do I ask her to marry me? That just seems absurd. It's not like she can say 'no.'" Alistair stood up and walked to the window even though there was nothing to see but darkness.

Teagan stood up, too, and joined him. The tiniest sliver of a crescent moon hung in the sky. He put an arm around Alistair's shoulder and gave him a squeeze. "Yes, you have to ask her. It's only proper."

"Is there a ring or something I'm supposed to use?"

Teagan pretended to think. "I believe there's a ring of Queen Moira's that would be suitable." It had already been cleaned and was sitting in a box in the drawer of his desk. "Let me look into it immediately so it will ready for you tomorrow. No sense wasting any more time, is there?" He patted Alistair on the back and dropped his arm to his side.

"No," Alistair said softly. "I suppose there isn't."


	11. The Bastard King

**Chapter 11 – The Bastard King**

Alistair twisted the ring in his fingers, running his thumb over the smooth gold band and the hard edges of the large square-cut emerald that jutted out from its surface. It was so much more… ostentatious than the other one that lay in the brown velvet pouch at the back of his nightstand drawer. He stood leaning against the desk in his office, almost sitting on the edge of the heavy wooden surface as he waited. The sky outside was overcast, a cloak of grey covering the unusually brilliant blue of the day before. Although it was mid-afternoon, the room was a wash of shadow, not quite dim enough for candles, but enough to create the sense that dusk had dropped early upon the palace.

He held the ring between his thumb and forefinger and stared absently at the perfect empty circle, willing his stomach to stop churning. There was no going back now. The ring had been Queen Moira's, his _grandmother's_ —it was such an odd feeling to think of her in that way. He was secretly glad that Teagan hadn't chosen one of Queen Rowan's. Somehow, it seemed  _wrong_  to use something of hers, with her only son burned to ash upon the pyre at Ostagar while he lived on, the Bastard King of Ferelden. Maybe he could persuade the palace historians to refer to him that way in the slews of texts that they were busy producing.

With a sigh, Alistair pushed himself fully upright and tucked the ring back into the rounded wooden box on his desk before placing the box into his pocket. She would be here any minute. He ran a hand through his hair… no crown today, at his insistence. He whispered the words that Teagan had given him to memorize and tried to keep himself from imagining the disaster that would ensue if he threw up all over the future Queen of Ferelden.

There was a soft rap at the door—still enough to make him jump—and he nervously touched his pocket to check that the box was still there. "Come in."

The door opened and Lady Elissa moved forward into the room as the two guards behind her took up positions on either side of the door frame. She dropped down into a deep curtsy, keeping her head bowed as the hem of her dress rustled against the floor. "Your Majesty."

"Rise, please, my lady." Alistair stepped forward and extended his hand to her. Her fingers were cool in his, like the pebbles he had once gathered from the water's edge in Redcliffe, and she raised her eyes to his face as she stood.

"You are too kind, your Majesty."

He released her hand and took a step back. "The honor is all mine, of course."

Lady Elissa pushed a lock of hair back behind her shoulder. She'd worn her hair unbound, and it trailed down her back in a dark wave of curls. She was watching him expectantly.  _Right_. He was supposed to say the formal phrasing now, if only he could remember what it was. He swallowed and clutched at the box in his pocket, struggling to contain the mounting panic that he was about to royally screw this up.

"Right. Well. I guess you're wondering why you're here."  _Why would she be wondering that, you idiot? Of course she knows why she's here!_

Lady Elissa smiled politely and waited for him to continue.

 _Was he supposed to kneel? Well, it certainly couldn't hurt…_  Alistair dropped to one knee before her and he was sure that his face matched the pink hue of her dress.

"Lady Elissa Cousland, I, King Alistair Theirin," he said, plowing ahead, grateful to have gotten his own name out correctly, and hoping the rest of the speech would just topple out of his mouth if he didn't think about it, "would like to formally request your hand in marriage, as my queen."  _There was something he was supposed to do here. The ring!_

Alistair fumbled at his pocket, which was now pulled too tight across his bent leg to allow him to slip his hand inside. He shifted his weight and nearly fell over, throwing his hand against the side of the desk at the last minute. His fingers closed around the box and he tugged it free, not daring to meet her eyes.  _Was she laughing at him?_  He had never felt more out of place; the king of the stable yard with a woven crown of summer grasses and a throne of straw.

Forcing in a sharp breath, he opened the box and held it out on his quivering palm. He fixed his gaze on the back of the lid. "I offer this ring as a token of my sincerity and commitment beneath the benevolent vigilance of the Maker and his chosen, Andraste, should you find me worthy." Alistair ventured a glance at her face. She wasn't laughing, thank the Maker. No, she was staring at the ring, her expression carefully composed and her eyes holding an emotion he couldn't easily define.

Lady Elissa knelt down as well so that they were nearly equal in height. He was reasonably sure that this wasn't part of the formal protocol that Teagan had drilled into him but, in all fairness, he hadn't exactly been paying attention to her part. Her gaze lingered over his for a moment.

"King Alistair Theirin, I, Lady Elissa Cousland, accept your proposal given in good faith and with the Maker's blessing. As your queen, your people shall become my people, and I take this duty upon myself willingly." Her voice was quiet and clear, cutting through the stillness.

Alistair let go of the desk and wiggled the ring free from the groove that held it in place before setting the box down on the floor near his knee. Lady Elissa held out her hand and he slid it easily on to the ring finger of her left hand. It fit perfectly, thanks to Teagan, he was sure. The emerald at the center looked almost black in the faded gloom.

"Thank you, your Majesty." She stretched her hand out to examine it. "It's beautiful."

"It was Queen Moira's."

Lady Elissa peered at it more closely. "Is this the one she's wearing in the painting where she's standing on top of the chariot?"

Alistair shook his head. "I'm not sure. Teagan would know if you'd like me to find out."

"I confess that I  _am_  curious, if it's not too much trouble."

Alistair's knee was beginning to ache where it pressed into the hard floor. "No, no trouble at all." He attempted to rise to his feet with some degree of dignity before helping her up as well. "So, I guess now we, uh, go find Teyrn Cousland and Arl Teagan and let them know that it's… done."

Lady Elissa ran her hands over the wrinkled fabric of her skirts, smoothing out the surface. "Please, lead on, your Majesty."

After a moment's hesitation, he linked his arm in hers. "I think you're allowed to call me Alistair now, at least in private, anyway."

She studied him with that same unreadable expression before nodding. "As you wish, Alistair." He wondered if that was who he really  _was_  anymore. "I hope that you will call me Elissa as well. Shall we?" Her voice was bright, a mismatch to what he saw in her eyes.

"Of course, Elissa." The name rolled off his tongue easily enough, but the familiarity it implied still felt like a freshly laundered pair of trousers, constrictive and ill-fitting.

They crossed the room together, the king and the woman who would be his queen, as the shadows lengthened behind them.

oOoOo

Teagan had been positively giddy, sending for bottles of Orlesian wines from the cellars and even Teyrn Cousland—no, Fergus now—had clapped him on the back in welcome. There would be a feast after the official betrothal announcement tomorrow, and Alistair forced a smile to his face until his cheeks ached. Teagan pushed glasses of wine into their hands as they toasted to the future of Ferelden, to the upcoming marriage, to their children, to the continued strength and prosperity of the Theirin line.

Alistair was feeling decidedly  _more_  than light-headed as he set his glass down on one of the tables with more care than was actually necessary. This sitting room was Teagan's favorite, and Alistair often found him here late at night while on his way to raid the kitchen's larders. It had been Queen Rowan's, once; her sword was displayed prominently on the central wall flanked by paintings depicting King Maric's coronation and one of young Prince Cailan. Alistair could see the man within the boy, in the cocky tilt of his chin and the bright-eyed confidence of his stare.

"—which will coincide perfectly with the harvest. Don't you agree, your Majesty?"

Alistair swiveled in place to find them all staring at him expectantly. "What? I'm sorry, Teagan, I was distracted."

"We were discussing the timing of the wedding. I was thinking early fall, that should give us enough time to get everything organized without too much delay." Teagan took a large swallow of wine. "What do you think?"

Alistair looked at Elissa, but she merely gave the slightest shrug of acquiescence. "As your Majesty wishes."

He picked up his glass and drained it. "That would be fine, Teagan."

"Excellent!" Teagan set his empty glass down and rubbed his hands together. "Shall we adjourn for dinner? I've had the servants lay out something special in the private dining room."

Fergus finished the last dregs of his wine. "I'm beginning to see why Rainesfere made it through the Blight relatively unscathed. We could have used your tactical skills at Ostagar."

"Yes, I was delayed along with Eamon's forces, unfortunately. But, let's not dwell on that now. Today is a day for celebration. Come," Teagan said, motioning them to follow.

Alistair politely took Elissa's arm and they made their way to the dining room, where an incredible spread of food was being laid out. Teagan and Fergus conversed happily throughout the meal, while Alistair and Elissa rapidly expended their supply of small talk before lapsing into an uneasy silence. She picked at her food, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. Alistair pretended to be listening to the other two men, smiling and nodding as appropriate, but he felt as though he should be at least  _trying_  to connect with Elissa. She was going to be his wife, his partner in getting Ferelden back on its feet. He'd never been the one to do the talking. It had been Neve who had persuaded their various companions and allies to help them, not him. It had been a little easier to talk to Elissa yesterday when they had been out riding, so maybe they just needed to get away from  _this_. As he ran over the details of yesterday's conversation in his mind, an idea struck him.

"Excuse me, Teagan," he said, placing his napkin next to his plate, "Fergus." He gave the Teyrn a nod as he stood up. "There's something that I would like to show Lady Elissa. If that is acceptable to you, my lady?" he asked as he turned to her, noting the flicker of surprise in her eyes.

She looked to Fergus, who nodded. "Yes, thank you, your Majesty."

Alistair caught the smug look that passed between Teagan and Fergus and suppressed a groan. Did they really think that he was already trying to…? Yes, they probably did.

It was a relief to escape into the hallway. "Shall we?"

"Am I permitted to know where we're going?" She seemed wary.  _Maker, she wasn't thinking that, too, was she?_

"It's a surprise, but it's nothing bad, I promise. Trust me." He offered his arm. "You can't tell me you wanted to stay there for another hour listening to Teagan and Fergus talk about trade agreements with Antiva."

"Maybe I did." Her shoulders relaxed as she gave him a small grin.

"We could go back and join them, if you like? It's not too late."

"We could, but now that we've excused ourselves, it would be awfully presumptuous of us to barge back in." Elissa linked her arm through his. "Besides, you have me intrigued."

They made their way through the twists and turns of the palace corridors with yet another pair of ever-present guards at their heels. Alistair opened the door that led to the stable yard and they stepped outside into the evening air. The torches along the stone exterior were already lit, bathing the yard in a yellow glow. He led them past the stables to a building near the rear of the yard where kennels with spacious attached runs lined the outside wall. The mabari hounds stationed in each kennel bounded forward as they approached and Alistair presented his hand to be sniffed by each dog in turn as they passed. These were not strictly  _his_  dogs, but they were all trained to recognize him by scent and to protect him with their lives, if required.

When they reached the door, he pulled it open and the hinges gave a rusty squeal of protest. The rush of warmth that met them smelled distinctly canine. This had been one of his favorite places to hide when ducking the lessons that Eamon had arranged.

"After you, my lady." He was pleased to see that she didn't seem bothered by the fact that the hem of her dress, a delicate shade of pink like the edges of an apple blossom, was now covered in dirt from the yard outside.

Elissa gave him a puzzled look, but stepped inside, followed by Alistair, who closed the door behind them. The room was long and rectangular, with kennel space running along most of both sides. There was a small table and chairs and a neatly made pallet in the corner of the main room. An old man with a scraggly wisp of a beard, mostly white but with hints that it had once been red, shuffled out of one of the kennels at the back. His scowl melted into a warm smile as he bowed. "Your Majesty! Always an honor."

Alistair smiled back. "Good evening, Finlay. This is Lady Elissa Cousland."

The kennel master bowed again. "Welcome to the royal kennels, my lady."

"Thank you kindly."

Finlay rubbed his hands on the back of his trousers as he turned his attention to Alistair. "Have you come to check on 'em again? They're growing into right proper little pups, now."

"I have, indeed. Will they be ready to leave their mother soon?"

"Aye. Another week or two perhaps. She's already started wanting to come out for hunts with the rest of the pack again, so won't be much longer now." He beckoned them with a bony hand. "This way."

Finlay directed them towards one of doors. "Just through here, your Majesty. Had to move 'em into one of the larger runs this week."

"Thank you, "Alistair said as he opened the door and ducked inside, leaving it ajar so Elissa could follow. The room was small and square, with simple white-washed walls, and an ample bedding of straw covered the floor. A wooden flap in one of the walls provided access to the runs outside and heap of five or so puppies lay curled up asleep in one corner. The large female mabari stood up as they entered and looked them over with a cautious snort.

Alistair held out his hand for the dog to sniff. "You remember me, right? This is Lady Elissa. She's here to see if one of your pups will choose her."

Elissa looked at the pile of puppies, and then at him, not saying anything.  _Maker's breath, but she was hard to read._ She then calmly held out her hand for inspection as well, and the mabari snuffled at both of them before giving a throaty bark and settling back on her haunches in a relaxed posture.

Alistair gave a small chuckle. "I guess that means it's okay."

"Your M—Alistair, I'm at a loss for words." She walked closer to the puppies and glanced back at him before sitting down. "Thank you." It was kind of comical, the contrast between her finery and the mess of straw beneath her. Alistair joined her, sitting down with his back against the wall.

The puppies seemed to come to life as they realized that there were new people—new smells!—in their home, and Alistair and Elissa were soon surrounded by pups bouncing around and showing off. Every inch of exposed skin was sniffed, licked, and inspected, making Elissa giggle. It made him think of Neve; it had been the first time her had heard her laugh, as well, when that mabari she had helped at Ostagar had come racing down the road after them. Alistair wrestled playfully with a puppy that had latched on to his sleeve. The fabric came apart with a loud tear and the pup pranced away victoriously with his prize.

At last, the puppies began to tire. The one that had ripped Alistair's sleeve had settled possessively by his outstretched leg, resting his chin on Alistair's knee. He hadn't intended to be chosen himself, but it was oddly comforting in a way he hadn't expected. Elissa's dress was spotted with paw prints and blotches of drool. A puppy lay sprawled out on top of her skirts, her paws sticking up in the air, as Elissa rubbed her exposed belly. The others had flopped down into their communal heap once more and their mother sauntered over to check on them, sniffing their fur and nosing them into a position that she seemed to find suitable. Alistair was amused to see that Elissa's hair was flecked with bits of straw and there was a large smudge of dirt on her cheek. If Teagan saw them, he would have a fit, and the thought made Alistair smile.

"She's yours, as soon as they can leave their mother," he said. "And you're more than welcome to visit her whenever you like until she's ready."

Elissa looked over at him and smiled. "Thank you. Truly. This was most unexpected."

"You're welcome." Alistair reached down and scruffed the ears of the puppy resting on his leg. The pup yawned and sniffed, closing his eyes. "It looks like I've got one, too."

"I suppose we should be heading back." She sounded almost reluctant as she gently pushed the puppy off her dress, ignoring the whine of protest. "Oh, hush, you. I'll come back tomorrow. " The puppy gave her a stern look. "I promise." At that, she padded over to join the others.

"You, too, muttonchop. Off you go." The puppy opened one eye, but made no attempt to move. "Come on, now. I have… important trade documents to… Ow! Watch your teeth!" The puppy had deftly nibbled a hole in the knee of Alistair's trousers and was now climbing over his brothers and sisters to lie down on the top of the heap.

Alistair got to his feet and helped Elissa do the same before spending a few moments brushing away the hay that clung to his trousers. They bid Finlay good night and made their way back to the palace in silence, but it was more contemplative than uncomfortable. He walked with Elissa all the way to her quarters, and they paused at the doorway.

"Good night, Alistair."

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, surprised to find her fingers warm. "Good night, Elissa."

As she shut the door behind her, he turned and made his way back to his own chambers. Alistair stripped off his clothes and slipped on his sleeping trousers before collapsing into the welcoming softness of his bed. Despite his exhaustion and relief at having survived the day, he knew that tomorrow was going to be worse. The public announcement of his betrothal. Another speech of Teagan's to memorize and recite. He pulled the blankets over his head like he had as a boy. This was his little fort, with no kings or nobles. Alistair lay like that until the air grew hot and stifling before folding them back over his chest. When he finally slept, he dreamt of the darkspawn that his blood demanded, though that path was no longer his to walk.

oOoOo

Alistair fidgeted, earning a glare from Teagan.  _Andraste's flaming sword, why did it have to be the hottest day of the year today?_  He was dressed in full plate armor, not his  _real_  armor, but the fancy ceremonial set that he wore for all his public appearances. It sat against different areas than his regular armor and the chafing was uncomfortable, more so in the heat. His stomach felt like a bucket of milk, left out to curdle in the noonday sun.

The Grand Cleric was talking now, blessing the huge crowds that had gathered below the palace balcony. He had already survived his speech, thank the Maker, without making an utter ass of himself, but it did little to quell his nerves. He and the Grand Cleric had rarely seen eye to eye since he had assumed the throne, but she had actually seemed genuinely happy to see Elissa. Before they had all been paraded out into the blazing sun, the Grand Cleric had pulled her into a tight embrace and whispered something in her ear—most likely expressing her pity that Elissa was going to be stuck marrying him.

Elissa was standing stoically at his side in a dark blue dress speckled with tiny crystals, like clusters of stars twinkling in the brightness of the day. Between the two of them, Alistair had no doubt that the crowd was being slowly forced to go blind as they looked at them. He shifted from foot to foot again as the Grand Cleric stepped back and Teagan began to speak. He wondered if suddenly toppling from the balcony would be such a bad thing, really...

Teagan raised his hands in a gesture of triumph and victory. "And so, people of Ferelden, it is my great pleasure to present to you, your king and future queen!"

The crowd roared, a great cheer going up in a wave that crashed over them. Alistair and Elissa turned inward to face each other and he took both her hands. He wasn't sure if it were her hands that were shaking, or his. They had skipped this part during the rehearsal that Teagan had walked them through this morning and, at the time, Alistair had been relieved. There was no escaping it now, though. Elissa's face was a perfect mask of calmness as he leaned in and chastely pressed his lips to hers. The kiss lasted mere seconds before he pulled back, but the enthusiastic response from the masses below was overwhelming.

He hadn't been sure what it was going to feel like, to kiss someone who wasn't Neve. He was just playing the game they wanted him to play, he had told himself last night as he lay worrying, and it didn't have to  _mean_  anything. So, why did it leave him feeling hollow and brittle, like an eggshell about to be crushed beneath a careless boot? It  _was_  a betrayal, and he felt even worse knowing that it would just be the first of many. Still holding one of Elissa's hands, they turned together to face the crowd and waved. He smiled. He pretended. He did everything they asked of him, as always.

That night, after the feast where he had eaten next to nothing, Alistair scrawled a letter to Neve and had one of the riders woken up to head out immediately. He packed haphazardly, tossing clothes into his knapsack. He paused, and then reached into the drawer beside the bed and tossed the brown velvet pouch in as well. When he had finished, he sat down on the edge of the bed and buried his face in his hands.  _How was he supposed to spend the rest of his life like this?_

oOoOo

Teagan lay half-reclined on one of the narrow sofas in the sitting room, one arm bent behind his head, the other across his chest cradling his now empty snifter of brandy. The past few days had been more successful than he could have ever hoped. Ferelden would soon have a queen and, Maker willing, there would be royal children to follow. He set his glass down on the floor beside him and stretched. He should head off to bed soon. The remnants of his hangover from the previous night still throbbed behind his eyes, although, with the amount he'd already had to drink tonight, tomorrow's was sure to be much worse.

The door to the sitting room creaked open and Teagan forced himself to sit up. "Yes?"

Alistair shuffled in, his hair and clothing rumpled. "Do you have a minute?"

"Of course, what's on your mind?" The poor boy looked exhausted. He'd barely eaten anything at dinner; it was hard  _not_  to notice, considering the amount he usually managed to pack away.

Alistair sat down in the plush red chair facing the sofa, resting his elbows on his knees in a weary posture. "I need to get away for a few days."

 _Ah, so that's what this was about._  "To Vigil's Keep, I assume?"

Alistair nodded, and the clenched set of his jaw gave Teagan the distinct impression that he was not so much asking for permission as  _telling_  him. "It would only be for two weeks or so at most."

Teagan wasn't sure what they were going to do about this… situation yet. The whispers that had started after the king's last visit to the Keep had been drowned out by the uproar of Eamon's dismissal, and this was sure to stir everything up again. Still, it wasn't as though it was unheard of, really, and the possibility of a bastard or two wasn't necessarily a bad thing, given that the line was still unsecured. Teagan could see the sense of despair bleeding from Alistair's sagging shoulders. If this made him happy, why should it not continue, at least for now?

Teagan reached over and patted Alistair's knee. "I understand. We can manage here without you, although expect to be a bit overwhelmed when you return. The Antivan ambassador may be annoyed by the delay, but I'm sure I can keep things moving enough to keep him happy."

Alistair looked up at him. "Thank you, Teagan. You have no idea what this means to me."

Teagan lifted his glass from the floor and stood up. "No need to thank me. I'm here to do my duty just as you are." He crossed over to the small table in the corner and refilled his glass. "Would you care for one?"

Alistair hesitated for a few seconds before speaking. "Yes, I think I will." He rose and collected the snifter that Teagan had filled, sipping it carefully.

"You did really well today. I'm proud of you."

Alistair gave him a tired smile that was almost a grimace. "I'm just glad I didn't embarrass anyone."

They stood in silence for a few minutes before Teagan spoke again. "So, what did you and Lady Elissa get up to yesterday, or should I not ask?"

"It's not what you're thinking." Alistair set his still mostly full glass back down on the table with a sigh. "I took her to see the new litter of mabari pups to see if one would imprint on her." Seeing Teagan's puzzled expression, he continued. "She told me she'd lost her mabari during the Blight, when she was on the run after what Howe did." Teagan stared at Alistair. "What?"

Teagan drained his glass and put his arm around Alistair's shoulders. "You're a good man, Alistair. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Alistair shrugged his arm away. "It sure doesn't feel like it, sometimes."

"I know it must be hard, getting used to all of this. But, it will get easier. I promise."

"I hope you're right, Teagan. I really do." Alistair walked away to stare up at the painting of Cailan once more. "I wish he was still here, instead of me."

Teagan walked over next to him. "You looked a lot like that, too, when you were a boy. Not the expression, since you never had Cailan's cockiness, but you both have Maric's… charisma, I suppose." He yawned. "Speaking of Cailan, I was thinking that we should have Wynne sent over from the Circle before the wedding."

Alistair's brow wrinkled. "I don't follow."

"Well, Cailan and Anora were married for several years without conceiving an heir. Although the issue could have been on her side, it can't hurt to have you checked over, just in case. There may be something that can be done." Teagan watched the growing anger in Alistair's eyes. Maybe he should have waited to bring this up.

"Right. We've got to make sure I'm fit and healthy before you send me for breeding." His words were clipped and harsh. His mouth opened and closed again and Teagan had the sense that Alistair was holding something back.

Teagan ran a hand over his face. "I'm sorry, Alistair. I don't mean to be callous. I'm just trying to do what's best for Ferelden, you know that."

Alistair's response was quiet and resigned, the anger drained away. "I know. We all are." He looked at Teagan for a moment. "You're a good man, too, Teagan." Then he walked towards the door, stopping to turn briefly. "Go get some sleep. You look like you're about to fall over."

Teagan nodded. "You, too."

After Alistair had left, Teagan staggered off to bed. He fell asleep almost instantly, and dreamt of Cailan and Alistair as boys, sparring in the dusty stable yard. In the back of his mind, he was sure that they had never actually  _met_  as boys, but, here they were, so he must have been mistaken. Despite the fact that Cailan seemed to best him each time, Alistair continued to rise from the dirt, wanting to try again. You had to admire that about the boy. He was going to do all right, that one.


	12. Impossible Odds

**Chapter 12 – Impossible Odds**

Fuck. They just kept coming.

Sweat mixed with blood, most not her own, trickled into her eyes and Neve wiped it away roughly with the back of her hand. Another pack of hurlocks, led by an alpha this time, was charging up the hill towards them, and she moved to circle around behind them while Oghren ran screaming into the center of the group, his axe swinging through the first one in a vicious arc. Nathaniel stood further back, firing arrows into the fray with a concentrated fury. Anders was stomping back and forth behind Nathaniel, as she'd told him to limit his offensive magic for now to save his energy for healing. They were going to need it.

Neve plunged her dagger into the closest hurlock's neck. She barely noticed the spray of blood that splattered over her face and arms as she turned to her next target. Where were these fuckers coming from and why were there so many? More genlocks materialized from the dense scrub to the east, and she saw Nathaniel swivel to begin taking them out. Since they had returned from Amaranthine a month or so ago, darkspawn attacks in the area had been gradually increasing, both in the number of incidents and in their brutality. Neve crouched down to avoid a slash to her head from the hurlock alpha, the blade just barely skimming over her scalp. Oghren cleanly decapitated her attacker as she ducked, and Neve stabbed through the backside of another hurlock's knee. As the hurlock collapsed on his bad leg, she punched a dagger into his throat. That was the last of this batch.

She stood up gingerly, as her side felt like it was about to split open along the seams of her scars. Aside from a large bite mark on her upper arm, she was relatively unscathed. Nathaniel's next arrow took out the last remaining genlock.  _Damn, that man was good._

"How's everyone doing?" Her voice was hoarse from shouting.

"Never better." Oghren pulled his axe free from one of the bodies on the ground. "Who's next?"

"I'm fine, if you'd let me do something." Anders glared at her.

He was edgy and irritable, a sure sign that he'd had too much lyrium. "You've done a lot already." She gestured at the charred pile of corpses further down the hill behind them. "You're already half addled. We can't risk it." She ignored his look of displeasure and turned to Nathaniel. His skin was pale and his breathing rapid as he limped towards her.

"I'm running low on arrows and I've got a fairly bad gash in my leg. Do we wait for more of them to come or do we retreat for now?"

Neve hesitated. They'd been tracking this group for days now, but it now seemed abundantly clear that there were multiple groups roaming the same area. It didn't make sense. She could feel more of them out there, close and getting closer. Fuck. There was an ogre  _and_  an emissary; she was sure of it.

"There's more coming, so there's no point in running now. We'll take this group, and then we're going to head back north. There must be a Deep Roads entrance close by, but we're in no condition to do anything about it at the moment." The taint in her blood was singing now; the next group of darkspawn was almost here. "Anders, patch up Nathaniel if you can. We don't have time for proper healing right now. Get ready, there's an ogre and an emissary in this group and it's going to be nasty."

Anders pulled a jar of salve from his robes and began slathering it over the wound on Nathaniel's leg. Neve shook out her arms to force her tired and tightened muscles to relax. Just a few more to go. She felt the first faint tremor beneath her feet before the large horned head, and then another, appeared past the trees. Shit. There were two of them.

"Anders, give me whatever you've got, or we're fucked."

"With pleasure." She could feel the crackle of magic building as he began to cast.

She turned to Oghren. "Ready to go down in a blaze of glory?"

"Heh. Don't you know it." Oghren gripped the haft of his axe, and readied his swing as the first few hurlocks broke through and started up the hill.

"Nathaniel, the emissary is somewhere to the left of the ogres. Take him out before he's in range to cast anything, if you can."

He pivoted to face the direction she had indicated. "I'm on it, Commander."

As the ogres came through the tree line, they roared, and the one on the right pounded his fists against the ground as he prepared to charge. Neve and Oghren held their ground as the air around them grew cold. She could see her breath in the air, a plume of crystallized vapor, when the storm descended with a swirling ferocity.

It was enough to slow the first ogre as he came thundering up the hill towards them, the second close behind. Oghren bellowed a battle cry as he rushed forward and swung his axe across the ogre's legs. It howled again as blood began to roll in great gouts down its thighs, and the stench from its mouth reeked with the decay of the Deep Roads. Neve dodged the fist that smashed down next to her as she maneuvered around to flank with Oghren. The second ogre lowered its head.

"Oghren! Ogre—left flank!" She barely had time to yell the warning before it charged, sending Oghren flying backwards towards Anders. Neve plunged her daggers into the backs of the first ogre's knees, slicing through the tendons and muscles that were holding him upright. She yanked them free and sprinted back as he crumpled and fell. A volley of arrows pelted the ground around her and Neve instinctively flattened herself against the ground. She hazarded a look up to see Oghren staggering to his feet while Anders let loose a hazy crackle of lightning at the second ogre who was now careening back around for another attack. Nathaniel was nocking and firing rapidly to the south, his jaw set in a grim line.

The downed ogre was flailing awkwardly and attempting to roll as Neve darted in to stab her dagger into the side of its throat. There was a horrific gurgle and a gush of blood that splashed across her face and into her mouth, making her wretch.

"Commander!"

She looked up to see Nathaniel throwing down his bow and drawing a dagger just as a wave of hurlocks crested the hill to the southwest.

"Is the emissary down?" She could see Oghren taunting the ogre that was still standing as she ran over to help, but where was Anders?

"No, haven't… seen… him… yet." Nathaniel's words were punctuated by a series of stabs as the group of hurlocks descended on them. He was pivoting on his good leg, clearly trying to keep any unnecessary movement to a minimum.

Neve's actions mirrored his, methodically slashing and piercing as she scanned the area. Oghren was holding his own against the ogre, for now, anyway. The emissary was still out there, which meant there was sure to be another group of genlocks or hurlocks as well. Fuck. Where was Anders? She hoped he had moved further down the other side of the hill and out of her line of sight, but she couldn't feel his magic any longer. She tried to squash down her rising sense of panic.

"Can you hold them here?" Neve was panting as she threw herself against the back of the hurlock that had just swung at Nathaniel's head. She snaked her arm around its neck and slit its throat with her dagger before shoving the hurlock forward as it toppled.

"For now." His black hair was drenched with gore and she was sure hers was as well.

"Yell if you see the emissary." Neve ran as best she could towards where Oghren was hacking at the ogre's legs as if it were a stubborn tree to be felled.

"Come down here and let's see what your innards look like!" Oghren took another hard swing, but as he tried to pull it back, his axe caught. Seizing the opportunity, the ogre reached down and snagged the dwarf in its fist, crushing him tightly as it lifted him up.

"Oh, no, you fucking don't." Struggling to ignore the sharp pains in her side, Neve sprinted forward and sunk a dagger into each of its thighs, allowing her weight to pull them down, carving through muscle, down to the bloody mess that Oghren had left of its shins.

The ogre howled as it reached down to frantically clutch at its legs and Oghren fell to the ground beside her with a thud and a clatter of dented metal. The ogre was swaying on its feet; she had to get it to the ground.

Like mist, a grey cloud seemed to materialize from the ground at her feet, billowing up as though the earth itself was on fire. It didn't smell like smoke, though, it smelled of bodies, rotting and roasting on the battlefield. As she drew a breath, it burned her nose and throat and she could taste the slick of blood that coated them. Neve took a step backward, then another. The cloud continued to grow, engulfing the ogre that coughed violently before sinking to its knees. She couldn't see Oghren, but she could hear him cursing. The unfamiliar magic was harsh against her skin, burning her raw.

It was hard to think. Neve was sure she had fallen to her knees as well. All she could see was grey, a fitting color to die with, at least. Everything hurt. She closed her eyes and waited for the pain to stop.

It didn't.

She slumped to the ground and lay still.

oOoOo

"Neve."

Someone was talking, but it seemed so far away.

"Neve, wake up."

There was a sense of movement. It was so much easier to just stay here. Maybe the voice would go away.

"Neve, please."

It was a man's voice. A memory prickled at the back of her mind. She tried to force her eyes to open, but they felt gritty and blistered. There was a moan that might have been hers.

"Anders! Anders, she's coming around!"

There was panic in his voice. Fear. Worry. Neve wished she could tell him she was okay. She remembered the pain. It was gone now, though, and her body was numb and floating.

"Here we go. Hold her down. Ready?"

A different voice, this one familiar, too. Something tickled at the edge of her senses, growing stronger, invading her body as it crawled hand-over-hand to curl up inside of her. The pressure was building, stretching against the brittle shell that surrounded her until it burst in a shock of agony.

She screamed.

Everything hurt.

oOoOo

"When is she going to wake up?" Alistair ran a hand through his hair as he paced back and forth across the small room.

Anders sat by the bed, his fingers pressed against Neve's wrist. He turned to look at Alistair. "Soon, I hope." He lowered her arm back down and rubbed his hand over the shaggy growth the covered his jaw. "Her pulse is strong."

Alistair was still in his heavy armor, splattered with gore. They'd ridden all night to reach the Keep, Neve unconscious in his arms, with fear and adrenaline driving them on. He'd nearly lost her. Maker's breath, if he'd been any later… The thought made him almost ill.

Anders stood up shakily and Alistair realized that the man was barely able to stay on his feet. The back of his head just above his ponytail was matted with a crusty patch of dried blood and the entire left side of his face was swollen and bruised. The morning sun streaming in brightly through the windows brought a sense of normalcy that felt harshly out of place.

"Is there anything else you need? Otherwise, I'll go check in on Oghren and Nathaniel." Anders glanced back to where Neve lay still. "I'll be just down the hall. Shout if you need me."

Alistair nodded. "Anders, wait—

The mage stopped and turned, leaning against the doorway.

"Thank you." Alistair swallowed. "If you hadn't … I mean, I don't know what I would've…"

Anders gave him a tired smile. "You're welcome. Call me when she wakes."

"I will."

Anders closed the door behind him and Alistair turned back to the bed. He could see the steady rise and fall of her chest though her face was so pale and tinged with grey that it made his heart ache. He should have been here, with her.

He stripped off his armor, piling it into a mound on the floor. The linen shirt and trousers that he wore underneath his armor had been drenched in sweat as he rode and they were now cold and clinging. Alistair opened the door and sent one of the guards for a servant to fill the tub and then slumped on the edge of the bed, holding Neve's hand as he waited.

The water was so hot that it was nearly scalding, but he sank down into it gratefully and scrubbed the filth from his skin and hair. It wasn't until he climbed out that he realized that he had nothing clean to change into. With a sigh, Alistair poked his head out of the door once more, careful to keep himself concealed, as he sent the guard running for his pack.

Once he had dressed, he sagged down into the chair next to the bed. It was strange to be sitting here again, in the same spot where he had waited, not that long ago, for her to awake from her drunken stupor. Alistair leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

"I love you," he whispered.

The need to touch her, to feel the beating of her heart under her skin, was so strong that he could hardly stand it. The exhaustion of the past week suddenly felt overwhelmingly heavy. Without another thought, Alistair walked around to the other side of the bed and crawled in next to Neve. Her hair reeked of darkspawn and it brought back memories of lying tangled together in his tent, chasing away the darkness in the only way they knew how. He arranged himself carefully around her, afraid of hurting her, as Anders had left everything that wasn't life-threatening for now. It was enough. He pressed a kiss to her temple, and let himself fall asleep.

oOoOo

Why was it so hot? Her whole body was parched and crumbling to dust in the great oven where mama had baked their bread. She wept, but there were no tears, only granules of ash that gusted down the plains of her cheeks. Her throat was lined with sand, making it impossible to cry out.

_Please, someone, help me._

oOoOo

Alistair awoke with a start, momentarily confused until everything came rushing back. From the slant of the light, it had to be late afternoon. Neve's color looked better, almost pink, and he smiled with relief. It wasn't until he reached out a hand to stroke her cheek that he realized how  _hot_  she was.  _Maker have mercy…_

He leapt from the bed.

"Anders!" He rushed to the door and threw it open, making the guards on either side jump. "Anders!" He looked at the pair of guards in a panic. "Go get the healer, now!"

He ran back into the room. There must be something he could do. Alistair raced into the bathing chamber and grabbed the towel he had left hanging to dry and dipped it into the now cool water in the tub. His hands were shaking as he wrung it out and ran back to the bed.

"Please, Neve, don't give up on me." He tried to fold the towel, but it was too large and bulky. There had to be something better. He left the wet towel in a dripping heap on the floor and went back into the bathing chamber to look for something smaller.

"Alistair?"

"I'm here." He rounded the corner back into the bedroom clutching a handful of washcloths. "She's burning up. Feel her." A sense of dread, bordering on outright fear, was making his heart race.

Anders crossed the room and touched her forehead with his hand. He exhaled sharply. "I need to examine her. Let's get these blankets off." He hauled the covers off her with a sharp jerk.

Alistair stood aimlessly twisting the cloths in his hands until Anders looked back at him. "Bring those cloths over. You can wipe her down with cool water while I work. Go see if there's a basin or a pitcher in there that you can fill so you don't need to go back and forth for water." Anders pointed in the direction of the bathing chamber and then turned back to Neve.

Basin. Pitcher. He glanced around helplessly. Pitcher! He grabbed it from the lower shelf and was about to fill it with water from the tub before he stopped. The water in there was filthy; he couldn't use that. He sent a guard running for water before rushing back to where Neve lay prone. She looked so small. What was visible of her arms and legs was a battlefield of bruises and abrasions, bite marks and slashes. The guard was blessedly quick, and he handed Alistair the pitcher, now filled nearly full with fresh, clean water, before resuming his post outside the door.

Anders nodded as Alistair took up a position on the opposite side of the bed. "We need to take this off as well," Anders said as he tugged on the edge of her nightshirt. "Once it's off, I need to you to use those cloths to cool her while I try to find the source of the infection." Anders stretched forward and began unbuttoning her shirt. Alistair was sure he heard him apologizing in muttered words under his breath.

Alistair dipped a washcloth into the wide mouth of the pitcher and wrung it out to remove the excess water. He had to stay calm. Anders was a good healer, Neve had said so in her letter, maybe even better than Wynne. If he couldn't help her, then no one could—he didn't allow himself to finish the thought.

He sat down on the bed next to her and wiped the cool cloth across her forehead, lifting it up briefly to trail it over the exposed skin on her left arm. Like a mantra, Alistair walked through the path of the cloth in his head, struggling to stay focused and not dissolve in fear. Rinse. Left leg. He wasn't going to think about the way her skin was burning. Rinse. Right leg. Her breath was now coming in great gulps. Rinse. Forehead and right arm. He could see the throb of her heart and he knew that his was galloping alongside hers in a matching rhythm. Rinse. Forehead and left arm. It was up to Anders now.

oOoOo

Anders undid the last button and pulled the two sides of the nightshirt apart. He tried to stay clinical and detached, but he couldn't help remembering the view down her shirt in Amaranthine and he felt the hint of a blush creep into his cheeks. The memory had resurfaced more than a few times over the past month. At least she was still wearing a breast band and smalls.

He took a deep breath. There was an infection building somewhere. She would be fine; he just had to find it. Anders let the magic settle into the tips of his fingers with the utmost control. He couldn't waste what little power he had left. The amount of lyrium he'd consumed in the last two days was making his head pound. Focus. He ran his fingers down each of her arms, turning them carefully to study each place where the skin had been broken and allowing a sliver of magic to probe each one. The large bite on Neve's shoulder was nasty looking—the hurlock had clearly bitten down and twisted with her flesh still clenched between its teeth—but he had thoroughly cleaned that one already. There was nothing there that suggested it was the source of the infection.

He gently palpated her abdomen, feeling for the various organs beneath. The area around the scars that cut across her stomach was swollen, but there was no redness and the skin was undamaged, so he moved on. Her skin was dry and hot, like a smooth stone baking in the summer sun. The upper half of both her legs was a mess of scratches—again, nothing deep enough to seem likely, but he ran his magic over everything anyway, staying as far away as he could manage from the area covered by her smalls. He felt a strange sense of shame when his eyes strayed as he was inspecting the inside of her thighs.

"I need to roll her over."

His words startled Alistair and he jumped. "Sorry?"

Anders had seen enough people nearly sick with worry over the years to easily recognize the expression on Alistair's face. "I need to check the rest of her. Here, you do that one." Anders carefully removed her right arm from her sleeve as Alistair stood up and draped his cloth over the rim of the pitcher before freeing her left arm. "Let's roll her towards you. Ready?"

Alistair nodded and they gently turned her over on to her stomach. Anders angled her head towards him to make sure her airway would remain clear.

"Did you want me to keep... wiping her down?" Alistair stood beside the bed, helplessly twisting his hands.

"Yes. We need to get her temperature down and I don't want to use magic to do it until I can figure out what's wrong." And, it would give Alistair something to do besides panic.

Anders sat down on the bed next to Neve. Her back, where her armor had covered, was pristine and unmarked. He trailed his fingers over each of the gashes that cut across her shoulder blades. Nothing. After a momentary pause of trepidation, he examined the back of each of her thighs, carefully stopping at the edge of her smalls. He was missing something, but what? Anders sat up and rubbed his forehead as he struggled to think.

"Did you find anything?" Alistair sounded as defeated as he felt.

Anders shook his head. "It's possible that it's just a generalized infection from everything, but I wouldn't have expected it to come on so quickly. Finding the primary point of contamination makes it easier for me to know where to focus my magic. Sorry, it's hard to put it into words."

"So, what do we do now?" Alistair's voice was hollow as he ran a hand absently through his hair.

His hair.

He hadn't checked her scalp.

"Hold that thought," Anders said as he leaned over and ran his fingers over Neve's head. He found the cut almost immediately and he nearly laughed out loud with relief. It was relatively shallow, running behind her left ear and part way across the back of her head, but he could feel the dark pull of something else there. A chill settled over his shoulders, wrapping his heart in its cold fingers. Not an infection. Poison. It was one he didn't recognize, evidently something the darkspawn had devised. They weren't supposed to be that smart, were they?

"What is it? Did you find something?" Alistair was looking at him intently and Anders knew he must have seen the alarm in his eyes.

"I think so. Keep going with the cloth and light some candles. It's getting dark in here. I need to get some things from the lab. Oh, send someone for a spoon, too."

Anders managed a controlled walk out of the room, but broke into a run once he was a few feet into the hallway. Every second counted now. At least it wasn't far. He grabbed a satchel from the bench and tossed in every antidote potion he had. Hopefully, he had something already made that might be similar enough. With only the slightest hesitation, he grabbed a few vials of lyrium, as well, before rushing back.

Alistair had finished lighting the candles and he held out a spoon towards Anders.

"Thanks." Anders set the spoon and satchel down next to Neve on the bed and bent over her head to find the cut again.

Anders closed his eyes and let his magic drain into her, funneling it down the channel of the incision. He could taste the bitterness on his tongue, numb and prickly. Some sort of spider venom. He pulled back and sat up, reaching for the satchel. He had two different antidotes that might be effective, but not knowing  _which_  variety of spider toxin the poison had been derived from made it impossible to guess. Was there any danger in giving her both? Anders ran through the risks in his mind. No matter what the potential effects were, he had to take every chance to neutralize it.

"Help me roll her over on to her back again."

Alistair stepped forward silently and they shifted her position. He could see the erratic pulse at the base of her neck as he removed the stopper from the first vial.

"What are you doing?" Alistair asked. The dark circles under his eyes were even more pronounced in the shadows cast by the candlelight.

"It's not an infection," Anders said. "She's been poisoned." Holding the vial carefully in one hand, he sat down and reached for the spoon. "This is going to take a while."

Anders poured a small amount into the spoon and pressed the tip against Neve's lips, allowing only a little to trickle into her mouth as he gently massaged her throat.  _Maker, please let her not be paralyzed. Swallow, damn you._  He felt the tiniest bob beneath his fingers. A little bit at a time, Anders fed her the remainder. Everything but the unique intimacy between the healer and his patient faded into the background as he concentrated on getting the antidote into her. When she had finished the first, Anders took the second vial and repeated the process. It was slow and painstaking, but he didn't want to risk her aspirating any of the liquid. At last, he sat back and rubbed his jaw with his hand.

"I just gave her the only antidotes I have that might be effective. I'm going to go in with magic now and hope it's enough."

Alistair's voice cracked as he spoke. "Do whatever you need to do. Just help her. Please."

Anders nodded and grabbed one of the vials of lyrium. He was going to regret this later, he knew, but he drained it without hesitation. "There are two more vials of lyrium in here. If I ask for one, take the stopper out and put it in my hand."

"Okay. Be careful."

Anders turned back to Neve and rested his hand on her forehead. Her color looked a little better already, but she was still scorching. He slid his hand gently behind her head, cradling it in his hand as his fingers felt for the edge of the cut. The lyrium coursed through him, easing his headache as it blurred the edges of his thoughts. His magic came readily, and he opened himself like a conduit, allowing the energy to pour into her. He followed, pulled along by the current, swallowing up the traces of poison in his wake. Pockets of damaged tissue lined the toxin's path through her body and Anders repaired them as best he could. When the rush of magic became a trickle, he managed to down the vial of lyrium that Alistair pressed into his hand before plunging downward once again. Her heart was gouged and raw and he clung there for an age, siphoning away the magic that whipped around him in a great whirlpool as he worked… until it ran dry.

"More," Anders managed to get out, his voice scarcely louder than a croak. His hands were shaking too much to hold the vial, so Alistair held it to his lips as he drank.

Swept away by the tidal force—he was barely conscious of any degree of control now—he healed her lungs. There was still too much damage. Something deep in her core, as well. More. He needed more.

There was a sudden impact, like a rock dropping on the center of his chest, and it made him gasp. A tug became an all-too-familiar pull.

_No. No, no, no. Not here. There couldn't be any here. He was safe now._

He was empty, a husk.

Defenseless.

Anders threw up his arms to protect his face and wondered when the beatings would start.

oOoOo

Drops of rain spattered against the cracked, dry soil, leaving dark splotches in the dust. More drops fell, harder and harder, a torrent battering against the earth. The barren gully became a stream, then a river, then an ocean as the water overflowed, expanding endlessly across the empty plains.

She was drowning in a sea of bright lyrium-blue water that felt like _him_.

She tried to make her lips form the words but no sound came out.

_Anders._

oOoOo

"Anders. Anders!" Alistair shook the mage gently by his shoulders, but the movement just made him curl further away with a whimper. "I'm not going to hurt you. You're safe. Look."

Anders tentatively opened his eyes, confusion giving way to recognition. "Alistair?" he whispered. "What happened?"

"You were drawing too much; I could feel the Veil thinning. I had to… smite you. You weren't responding at all. I'm sorry." Alistair swallowed. "Is she going to be all right?"

It took Anders a moment to collect himself. "I think so." His voice was thick and slurred. "There was a lot of damage." He tried to sit up but couldn't manage more than a half-hearted lurch.

"Here, let me help you." Alistair clasped Anders' wrist firmly and helped him sit up. "What do you need? What can I get you?"

Anders leaned weakly back against the headboard, with Neve practically nestled against his thigh. "Sleep. Food. Cat. I'll be fine… after. I just need a minute…" His head drooped forward.

"Anders?"

He was asleep.

Alistair thought for a moment, and then moved around the bed to pick Neve up in his arms. She  _was_  cooler already, thank the Maker. He marched towards the doorway.

"Close your eyes, please," he said to the guards stationed at the door before peeking into the hallway to make sure that it was empty. He walked quickly past the guards to the room next door. It was a bit of an awkward shuffle to get to the handle, but the door swung open easily enough. Alistair maneuvered slowly through the dark room, relieved that it had clearly been left ready for guests and was just as he remembered it. Neve stirred in his arms and moaned. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he laid her down on the bed and pulled the blankets out from underneath her to cover her up.

"Sleep now. I'll be right back."

He crossed back through the hallway to Neve's room. "You can open them now," he said to the guards as he passed back through the doorway.

Anders was still slumped over. Alistair gave his shoulder a mild shake. "Anders."

"Hmmm… What?" He gave Alistair a bleary look through half-lidded eyes.

"Lie down. Get some sleep. I'll get Varel to bring you up some food." Alistair gave Anders and encouraging shove and the mage slid over on to the bed.

"Yes. Food. Good." Anders' eyes closed again and Alistair hauled the covers up over top of him.

"I owe you one," Alistair whispered. "Maybe more than one."


	13. And Then There Were Six

**Chapter 13 – And Then There Were Six**

Neve rolled over and shivered. It was an effort to move as absolutely everything ached, but the cold had become too much to bear. With her eyes still pressed shut, she reached weakly for the edge of the blanket and pulled. It didn't budge. Opening her eyes was difficult and scarcely worth the effort, as her vision was rippled and blurry. In the dim light of the room, everything was draped with shadows; strange shapes that refused to come into focus. The surface of her eyes felt as if they had been coated with sand and she had to force herself to blink.

Her thoughts were hazy, too. There had been darkspawn, she remembered, though she couldn't sense any of them now. No, there was just Oghren and Anders and Nathaniel and Alistair, the familiar pulse of the taint bound in uncorrupted flesh.

Wait—Alistair?

Had she been stronger, Neve would have leapt from the bed. Instead, all she managed was a half-hearted groan as she pushed up on her arms before collapsing once more.

"Neve?"

The formless blob in front of her eyes slowly coalesced into Alistair's face. "Alistair?" She tried to say his name, but only a raspy squeak emerged from her throat.

"Oh, thank the Maker!" He fumbled with the covers that were cocooned around him and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her and kissing the top of her head. "I thought I'd lost you. You have no idea how worried I was." He continued to mumble as she struggled to digest what he was saying.

"Cold." She managed to get the word out, though it was almost inaudible.

Alistair pulled back. "Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to… Here, let me just—" He yanked the covers out from around himself and folded them over top of her, drawing her tentatively in next to his body. "Better?"

"Better," she whispered. It was easier to talk if she didn't try to use her full voice.

He kissed her gently, his lips soft next to the scratchy stubble of his jaw. "I've missed you so much." Alistair nestled his chin against her hair, and Neve cuddled into his chest. Was she dreaming? Curled up in his warmth, she decided that she didn't give a fuck if this was real or not. She fell asleep to the steady pulse of his heart beating against her cheek.

oOoOo

Alistair stirred, reaching out to pull Neve closer to him. He was never leaving this bed. He would hold court in here, with the nobles seated cross-legged on the floor like the children they were. The thought made him smile as he nuzzled in to kiss the top of her head. She was breathing deeply and her skin felt blissfully  _normal_. He was contemplating rolling over and going back to sleep when there was a soft rap at the door.

"Your Majesty?" The voice was muffled, but clear enough to be understood. "I'm sorry to wake you, but it's a bit of an emergency."

Alistair slipped out of bed and tucked the covers up around Neve. She sighed and snuggled into the empty space he had left behind. Running his fingers loosely through his hair, he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, pulling the door tightly shut behind him. "Yes? What is it?"

The pair of guards that flanked the door had been joined by a third man. Alistair recognized him as being one of the newer additions to his guard. What was the man's name? Eric? No, Edric.

Edric fixed his gaze on the floor as he spoke, twisting his hands together. "I'm sorry to disturb you, your Majesty, it's just that Janna's taken sick and it's not like anything we've seen before."

"Sick? In what way?" Alistair asked, a sinking sense of foreboding settling into his gut.

"She said she wasn't feeling well last night. Switched shifts so she could turn in early. This morning, when Alan went to wake her, she said she didn't think she could get up. Her skin's as grey as ash. We weren't sure if the healer could maybe come take a look…" Edric glanced up.

Alistair pressed his lips together in a grim line and turned to the two guards that still stood on either side of the door frame. "Go find Varel, the seneschal, and send him to meet me downstairs."

They nodded. "Yes, your Majesty." The sound of their metal footsteps echoed down the corridor until they vanished from sight.

"Take me to her," Alistair said. "Hopefully, we're not too late."

oOoOo

The guard's quarters on the main floor were filled with people milling about worriedly until Alistair sent them out to get breakfast from the kitchens, leaving only Edric lingering nervously by the door. Janna lay in one of the lower bunks, moaning and tossing fitfully from side to side as Alistair crouched down next to the bed.

There was no examination required.

She was tainted.

He could feel the warmth radiating from her skin and the dull pull of the corruption within that called to his own. "Janna? Can you hear me?"

The guard turned her head and looked at him with wide, glassy eyes. She flinched as she seemed to realize who he was. "Yes, your Majesty," she whispered.

She was fairly young, perhaps three or four years older than he was, and had been with the palace guard at least as long as he had been there. Alistair wiped his palms on the knees of his trousers. "How are you feeling?"

She shifted beneath the blankets. "I've been better. Is the healer coming?"

Alistair sighed. "He doesn't need to. You've been tainted by the darkspawn we fought. Were you bitten or scratched or…" He lapsed into silence. He'd been too worried about Neve to even bother asking if anyone else had been wounded. How could he have been so careless?

"Bitten. Just a small puncture." Janna pushed her hair out of her eyes and Alistair could see the thin lines that were beginning to stand out against the dull grey of her skin; branching tributaries that mapped out the course of the taint's spread through her body. "I'm going to die, aren't I?"

Alistair cleared his throat. "Not necessarily. Have you ever thought about becoming a Grey Warden?"

She smiled weakly. "Sure, who hasn't? I was there, during the Battle of Denerim. I saw you and the Hero of Ferelden at the gates, before you went into the city. But, what does this have to do with me?"

"You've been corrupted by the darkspawn. If you choose to go through the Joining, the corruption will be… taken care of. Otherwise," he swallowed tightly, "you're going to continue to worsen, until you become… a blighted creature, yourself." Alistair felt his stomach clench. During the Blight, they'd had to kill innocents who had been tainted and the memories of those days still made him want to vomit. He dreamt of them sometimes, their eyes so trusting and full of hope that they had come to save them…

"I see." Janna stared up at the bunk above her for a moment before turning back to him. "So, fate worse than death, or join the Grey Wardens? Tough choice." She nodded. "What do I have to do?"

Alistair let out a sigh of relief. "Let me see if they've found Varel yet. One moment." He stood up and walked to the door, nodding at Edric with an air of reassurance he didn't actually feel, before opening it slowly. "Stay here with her. I'll be right back."

The hallway was empty. He paced restlessly for a minute or two—where was he?—before starting off in the direction of the main hall. They nearly collided as he rounded the first corner.

Varel bowed as soon as he had regained his footing. "My apologies, your Majesty. Your guards filled me in and I came as quickly as I could. Do you need me to send for Anders?"

Alistair shook his head. "That won't be necessary. I need to prepare for a Joining. Immediately. Do you know if we have the…" he looked at the two guards that stood just behind the seneschal, "supplies to do so?"

Varel caught his glance and nodded. "Yes, we do. The Orlesian Wardens showed me what was required. Shall I fetch everything and meet you in the guards' quarters?"

"Yes, as fast as you can manage."

"Understood, your Majesty." Varel rushed halfway down the corridor before stopping and turning back. "Your Majesty—the Commander—is she going to be all right?"

Alistair gave him a small smile. "She's getting better. Mostly out of the woods now, I think."

Varel returned the smile with obvious relief. "Thank you, your Majesty."

Alistair acknowledged the two guards that remained. "Go get some breakfast with the others. Varel and I can handle things from here."

The shorter of the two, the one with the orange hair that made Alistair think of the roots that Morrigan was forever slipping into the stew when no one was looking, spoke up firmly. "I'm sorry, but we've been instructed not to leave you unattended. Arl Teagan was quite clear in his instructions, your Majesty."

Alistair sighed. "Very well. Go get some breakfast and send two others back. I think I'll be okay by myself until they arrive." He tried to keep himself from rolling his eyes and failed. "I don't think I'm going to be jumped by a handful of Crow assassins in the middle of the hallway."

"Yes, your Majesty," they chorused together, although he could tell that they weren't happy about it, before bowing and retreating back the way they had come, leaving Alistair blissfully alone.

The last time he had been present at a Joining had been with Duncan, at Ostagar. With Neve. He had been more than little afraid of her, back then, with the way she had defiantly lifted the chalice to her lips, as if she hadn't cared whether or not she'd lived or died.

He made his way back to the doorway and lingered outside, waiting for Varel. He didn't know what more to say to Janna, since he was still bound by all the things he couldn't say, not yet. Assuming she survived…

Alistair looked up at the sound of footsteps on the stone.

"Here you are, your Majesty." Varel held out a large silver goblet and a vial filled with something dark and viscous that he knew very well.

Alistair took them with reluctance, the chalice cool against his fingers. The one that Duncan had used was with his things in Denerim, tucked away with the other gifts she had given him, remnants of his former life.

"Did you want me to…?" Varel was looking at him expectantly.

"No, no. I should do it." He shrugged, struggling to seem unaffected. "Well, Neve should do it, but we can't wait for her." Squaring his shoulders, Alistair opened the door. "Come with me, you can bear witness to the ritual." Truthfully, he didn't want to do it alone. What if she died?  _Maker's breath, she's dying anyway._  She certainly didn't have much to lose.

Alistair sent Edric out into the hallway to ensure that no one would inadvertently walk in on them, and then they crossed through the rows of bunks, Alistair leading and Varel following, until Alistair stopped at the only occupied one.

Janna turned her head as they approached. "Your Majesty."

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"As ready as I'm going to be." Her gaze took in the vial and the goblet. "I'm guessing I don't want to know what's in there."

Alistair removed the stopper from the vial and poured its contents, thick like honey, but with a heavy smell of decay, into the chalice. "This will be easier if you can sit up." He looked at the seneschal. "Varel, if you don't mind…"

Varel stepped forward. "Of course, your Majesty."

It took a few minutes but, with Varel's help, Janna was able to sit up. She leaned against one of the bed posts for support, her long blonde hair spilling out over her shoulders. Varel stood close by, ready to assist her again if she needed it.

"Your Majesty," she said, "if I don't make it, there's a letter to my parents with my things. Could you make sure that they get it?"

Now that she was sitting, Alistair could clearly see where the tracks of corruption snaked up her neck and were just beginning to creep over her cheeks. "You have my word."

Janna drew in a shaky breath. "Thank you."

Alistair focused on the feeling of the goblet in his hands, solid and cool. "These words have been spoken since the very first Joining." He took a deep breath.

Daveth and Jory.

Neve. Her hair had been long like that, too, curling in waves around her ears, though nowhere near the pale shade of Janna's.

Duncan.

The memories of that day seared through his thoughts, like flames licking up the edges of a sheet of parchment.

His mouth was dry as he found himself speaking. "Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten... and that one day, we shall join you." He handed the chalice into Janna's trembling hands. "From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden."

She lifted the cup and drank the contents with a shudder. Alistair held his breath as the whiteness descended over her eyes and she gasped. Varel caught her as she swayed and guided her back down to the bed. His fingers fumbled for her pulse.

"She lives."

_Thank the Maker._

Alistair exhaled, easing the tightness in his chest. Seeing her there, sprawled out on the bed, made him painfully aware that Neve was alone and unattended upstairs. "Varel, can you stay with her for a moment while I go check on the Commander? It will likely be a while before she wakes, anyway."

Varel nodded. "As you wish, your Majesty."

oOoOo

When she woke again, sunlight was pouring through the gaps in the heavy drapes, long beams slanting through the room. Neve was lying on her side, and the shoulder that was pressed into the mattress was throbbing uncomfortably. Her gaze drifted over the tall wardrobe against the far wall, the woven tapestry of two lions salient, poised to leap, each separated from the other by an impossible expanse of cloth.

This wasn't her tent. This wasn't even her room.

She painfully scrambled up into a sitting position, the room lurching as a wave of dizziness swept over her. This was the guest room that Alistair had stayed in the last time he had—

Alistair.

He was here, in bed, with her… wasn't he? She looked down at the rumpled covers, but they were empty. She was alone. It had all been a dream, the best one she'd had in months.

Neve sank back against the pillows, confused by the strangely profound sense of loss and disappointment. How had she gotten here? She remembered flashes, disjointed images and sensations, but nothing that seemed to fit together in any sort of logical order. The battle with the darkspawn was fairly clear. They'd been worn down and exhausted. Days of skirmishes with little rest in between. The ogres. The emissary. Wandering through a desert, consumed by heat, the earth cracked and dry. Cool water on her skin. A sense of comfort.

She ran her fingers over the gashes and punctures on her chest and arms, carefully ghosting over the torn up flesh on her right shoulder. If she was here, back at Vigil's Keep, then clearly someone aside from her had survived. Her stomach clenched—Anders. He'd been missing, in the heat of the battle, and she'd been looking for him. In a strange way that she couldn't quite wrap her head around, she was somehow sure that she  _had_  found him. What about Oghren? Nathaniel? No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't remember anything more.

Forcing herself to concentrate, Neve closed her eyes and let her awareness stretch, reaching out through the stone around her. Her taint called to theirs, humming in the air, and she tasted the variations in each one as she identified them. Alistair. Oghren. Anders. Nathaniel. The oh, so quiet flicker of someone unknown. A subtle note of jasmine. Her eyes opened.  _Who the fuck was that?_

Wait—Alistair? He was actually here?

Ignoring the screaming ache of her muscles, Neve pushed back the covers and forced herself up once more. The effort left her sweating and more than a little nauseous. With a deep breath, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, bracing herself with her arms, and paused there for a moment while she waited for the contents of the room to right themselves. A narrow beam of sunlight from one of the windows cut across the tops of her legs, making them feel pleasantly warm, and she flexed her feet, stretching out the tightness in her calves. Why was she almost naked? Healing, most likely, although that still didn't explain why they hadn't left her in her own room.

She needed clothes first. Then she could concentrate on finding out what the fuck had happened.

Her first attempt at standing up was a dismal failure, and she crumpled to her knees on the floor.

"Shit!" She hadn't expected to feel quite so boneless, the muscles in her thighs quivering. Pain had sparked across the back of her head as well, leaving an intermittent stabbing throb even as the initial shock faded.

Still kneeling, Neve dropped her head down, as if in prayer, as the pressure in her head eased. She wiped the beads of perspiration that had formed on her forehead and nose with her hand. With steady breaths, she focused on the wine-colored rug beneath her knees. It was worn and threadbare, with a progression of bears marching resolutely around the border. The amount of detail in the stitching was astounding: the blended colors of thread in the bears' fur, the delicate loops of ivy below their feet, the variations in each bear's position and expression. Even in its current condition, it was probably worth a fortune and had likely been in the Howe family for generations. She really should see if Nathaniel wanted any of these things for himself. She swallowed roughly. Assuming he was okay. Who could say what sort of condition he was in…

Neve locked her gaze on the bear that rested in between her knees. It was rearing up on its haunches, its mouth opened in what she guessed was a snarl.  _Fuck you, bear, I can do that, too._  Bracing her hands against the floor, she stood up gradually, giving herself time to adjust to the position. There. Upright. She stood and waited until she was reasonably sure that she was stable enough to walk before making her way across the room to the door.

Pulling it open just a crack, Neve peeked out into the hallway. It was empty, for now. At least her room was right next door. Varel had stared at her strangely when he thought she wasn't looking for a few days after the mud incident, and she had no doubt that it would be even worse if he saw her streaking down the hallway mostly naked. She snorted. With a quick inhalation of breath, she pulled the door fully open and raced—as fast as she dared—for her room. The thrill at the possibility of being caught was enough to overcome the wooziness that still clung to her as she opened her door and rushed inside, slamming it closed behind her. Made it! She closed her eyes and leaned back against the door to steady herself.

"I… er… uh… wow."

Neve froze and slowly opened her eyes.

"Anders?"

Sweet merciful fuck.


	14. Here We Are Again

**Chapter 14 – Here We Are Again**

"Anders?"

They stood frozen, gaping at each other.

He was practically naked, clad only in his smalls that left nothing to the imagination, his normally fastidious hair loose and unbound. Neve stared, unable to process what she was seeing, taking in his lean, muscular frame. Somehow, the fact that she was practically naked, too, seemed to escape her. He looked like shit, she realized as she finally thought to look at his face. The circles under his eyes were so dark that they were nearly purple and, from the length of the stubble on his jaw, it had been at least three or four days since he had last shaved.

She should say something.

Her mind was utterly blank.

Fuck.

oOoOo

"Neve?"

Maker's balls, was he dreaming?

This didn't seem like the Fade… everything was too crisp, too clearly in focus. He could feel the texture of the matted rug beneath his feet. He could see the flutter of her pulse at her throat. Nope. Not dreaming.

She was staring at him. No, at his body… her eyes were definitely  _not_  on his face. Anders allowed himself to look as well. It was only fair, after all. The areas that hadn't been covered by her armor were still a mess of bruises and scratches and he found his gaze drawn to the trio of deep scars that ran over the otherwise unmarked skin of her abdomen. He couldn't help imaging what it would be like to taste her, to trace his way along each line with his mouth until he reached her breasts. His eyes flicked to her breast band, but he already knew what was beneath and his mind helpfully supplied the appropriate image. What would they feel like, under his hands, as she moaned his name?

The stirrings in his groin brought him harshly back to reality and he snapped his eyes back to her face, trying to will what was happening in his smalls to stop.

She was going to kill him.

He should say something, but the only word that came to mind was 'boobs' and that wasn't helping anything.

Andraste's arse, what was he supposed to say?

_Boobs._

Dammit!

oOoOo

He looked terrified, like a rabbit startled out of the underbrush, and she was somehow sure that she looked much the same. Where did they go from here?

There was a light tap on the door, which then opened abruptly, sending her hurtling to the floor.

"Ow! Fuck! What do you think you're doing?" Neve was on her hands and knees, pressing one hand against the bottom of her ribcage where the handle of the door had rammed into her.

"Here, let me help you." Anders scrambled forward to help her up, the temporary paralysis between them broken. He reached an arm around her shoulders to support her as he held out his other hand. Neve rose unsteadily to her feet, leaning against Anders, as the door fully opened.

"I'm sorry! I had—" Alistair took in the two of them, his mouth opening, and then snapping shut.

"This isn't what it looks like!" Anders blurted out.

"Neve?" Alistair's expression bordered on hurt and anger. If she could have shoved Anders away without falling over, she would have. Fuck Alistair's fucking ability to walk in at the worst fucking moment. Fuck. He would assume the worst; he always did.

Wait—he was really here? Even though she'd sensed him, she still hadn't quite believed it.

"Alistair? What are you doing here?" She stared at him, confused.

"I came to check on you. But, I guess you didn't need me to." His shoulders sagged a little. "Is there something you need to tell me about? I'd rather just know if you—"

Neve nearly growled and pushed away from Anders, wobbling a little, but standing independently. "I have no idea what the fuck is going on. The last thing that I remember was fighting a shitload of darkspawn. I don't know how we got back. I don't know what happened to everyone." Her voice was slowly getting louder and louder. "I don't know  _why_  I'm almost naked and I don't know  _why_  Anders was standing here, also almost naked, in  _my_  room! If anyone would care to fill me in I would fucking appreciate it!" She stomped, as best she could, over to the bed and sat down, folding her arms across her chest.

Alistair looked puzzled, too dumbfounded to speak.

Anders took a few steps towards the bed and gingerly grabbed his bundled up clothing from the floor. "Well, I'll just leave you two to sort everything out. If you will excuse me, I'll just… show myself out." He flashed her a grin before slowly backing towards the door.

"Nice try. Explanation first."

He stopped and sighed. "All right. You needed healing. Lots of it. One of the blades that cut you was poisoned. It took me a while to find the source because the wound was on your scalp and it was the last place I checked." He flushed slightly.

Neve nodded. That explained the sharp stabbing jolts in the back of her head, at least. "Go on."

"I… lost control, I think. There was so much damage in your heart, your lungs." He looked at Alistair, a sudden flash of wild fear in his eyes that vanished so quickly that she wasn't sure if she had imagined it. "He had to smite me. That's all I remember until I woke up here."

Alistair returned the glance, his voice cold and unfriendly. "You were too exhausted to move, so I left you here and moved Neve to the room next door instead. That doesn't explain why you're almost naked, though."

Anders sighed again. "I woke up at one point and I was hot. It was nothing kinky, honestly. Unless you want it to be…" His attempt at a smile faded as Alistair's eyes narrowed. "Or… not. " Anders glanced at Neve with a pleading look. "Can I go now? I should check in on Oghren and Nate, and then I would very much like to have a bath, eat several large shanks of ham, and snuggle with my cat. Is there anything else you need, Commander?"

"Are Nathaniel and Oghren okay?" Her voice was tight and quiet, her arms still hugged closely around her torso.

"Both fine. Nate's leg was pretty bad. He'd lost a lot of blood. Oghren took a good crack to the head. Broken ribs. Nothing overly unusual."

She closed her eyes for a moment before opening them again. "Good. Go ahead. Let them know that I'll be by in a bit to check in with them as well."

"Will do." He shifted the pile in his arms and headed for the door, closing it firmly behind him.

There was a loud feminine scream from the hallway and Neve jumped. "What the—"

There was a quick knock and the door reopened as Anders ducked back inside. "Apparently, me walking around in a state of undress is offensive to the serving staff. Do you mind if I…?" He gestured at the clothing in his hands with a bob of his head.

Neve snorted. "Go ahead."

An awkward silence stretched out between them as Anders pulled on his robe and began the complex process of buckling and tying everything in place. His hands were shaking, making everything take that much longer. As much she tried not to stare, there was nothing else to look at aside from Alistair fidgeting uncomfortably. The sound of Anders dressing, belts of fabric being pulled through various loops, was the only noise in the stillness of the room.

How was it possible that something as simple as a robe could take longer to put on than her armor?

"There." He pulled the last two ties together and knotted them in place. "Thanks. I'll be on my way, again." He glanced at Alistair—there was that look again—and then winked at her, either oblivious to the tension between her and Alistair, or completely ignoring it. The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving them alone.

Neve glanced over at Alistair standing unhappily by the door and patted the bed next to her. "So, how did you get here?" She left the question as to  _why_  he was here unspoken.

Alistair crossed the room to sit stiffly next to her. From the clenched set of his jaw, she could tell that he was still upset, despite Anders' explanation. "I was on my way here from Denerim. I sent you a letter to let you know I was coming."

Neve gave a slight shrug and unwrapped her arms, setting her hands on top of her knees. "I never got it. We'd been out for over a week before we ran into those last few groups. How did you know where we were?"

"When we were less than a day out from the Keep, I started to sense you, really strongly, but then I could feel more and more darkspawn, too. I was worried." Alistair moved his hand to rest over top of hers, lacing her fingers in his. "We left the main roads to meet up with you and, when we got there, only Nathaniel and Oghren were still standing. We took out the emissary and the few hurlocks that were left. Luckily, we had enough poultices to revive Anders." His voice grew quiet. "You were unconscious. I thought I was going to lose you."

She allowed herself to sag against him and he released her hand and shifted his arm to pull her in closer. "We rode all night and I thought you were through the worst of it, but then… you got worse. If Anders hadn't been able to neutralize the poison—" His voice cracked slightly and he swallowed. "What were you doing here, with him?"

Neve pushed herself away far enough to meet his eyes. "There is nothing going on between me and Anders. I woke up alone; I had no idea what had happened. I was coming here for clothes, since this was  _my_  room the last time I checked. How would I have known that Anders was standing in here, half-naked?"

Alistair sighed. "You're right. I'm sorry. I know it's stupid, but I just couldn't stop thinking that… well, you know."

She rolled her eyes. How many times had they been through this with Zevran? Her stomach rumbled loudly and she suddenly realized that she was  _starving_. "I know we need to talk, but I would really prefer to do that with some clothes on. I'd also really like something to eat, if you don't mind."

"Sure." He stood up and paused for a moment. "I should go see how Varel is doing anyway, so I can grab some food from the kitchens on my way back. I'll be back soon."

"Thanks."

It wasn't until he was gone that she fully processed what he had said.

Why did he need to check with Varel?

oOoOo

Neve shucked off her smalls and breast band and walked into the bathing chamber, feeling slightly steadier for having been upright for a while. The tub was filled with cold, dirty water and a layer of scum had congealed on the surface. She considered calling for someone to clean it out—the thought of spending an hour or two soaking in hot water sounded more than fantastic—but, that would have to wait. For now, the pitcher of what appeared to be clean water and a cloth would have to do. She rubbed the wet cloth over her head and body, careful to avoid her numerous injuries, and then changed into a clean shirt and trousers. A quick search revealed that her armor and daggers were nowhere to be found… They must have been taken for cleaning. There's no way that Alistair would have let them be left behind.

She curled up in her favorite chair and pulled her legs up to her chest, resting her chin on her knees. What was she going to do? If she'd only been here when his letter arrived, then she would have time to think about what she wanted, what she was going to say, instead of just floundering through all the mixed emotions that were seething inside. Before she even had time to pull her thoughts together, Alistair was pushing the door open, balancing a heaping tray of food in his hands.

He gave her gentle smile that seemed almost sad. "I've got food, as requested. Shall we eat?"

"Yes, please."

They ate at the low table near the windows, sitting on the floor in a pool of bright afternoon sunlight. Neve forced herself to eat slowly as she couldn't remember when she had last eaten and, despite the appeal of gorging rapidly, she knew, from experience, that it would be an incredibly bad idea. Alistair was eating more slowly than normal as well, not his typical uncivilized inhale of everything within reach. They didn't speak, concentrating on their food, until the tray was empty.

"Better?" he asked.

She nodded. "Better. Thanks."

"Did you want to stay and talk here, or we could maybe go for a walk? The air would probably do you good. There are a few things I need to tell you about." Alistair stacked the empty dishes onto the tray, not meeting her eyes.

"A walk would be nice, but I don't think I could manage much." Neve lifted her arms up and stretched. The fabric rubbing against the wound on her shoulder was painful and uncomfortable, but she certainly wasn't about to take her shirt off. She'd had quite enough of  _that_  already today.

Alistair finished reloading the tray and wiped his hands on his napkin. "We could go up to the battlement if you wanted. That wouldn't be too far."

"Sure."

He helped her to her feet and linked her arm in his. They didn't speak as they made their way through the halls and stairways, up to the very top of the Keep. Alistair left the pair of guards that trailed after them at the bottom of the last set of stairs with orders not to let anyone disturb them, leaving them with some degree of privacy as they made the ascent to the roof of the Keep.

The air outside was hot, with only a hint of breeze, carrying with it the subtle tang of salt. Looking down past the Keep's walls, across the plains of scrubland broken up by trees, she felt  _free_ ; the walls of the Alienage were distant enough to be just the traces of a nightmare left behind. Neve folded her arms and rested them on the stone, feeling its warmth seeping into her. Alistair did the same and she glanced sideways at him. His eyes were on the horizon, the wind ruffling his hair lightly. The way his hair gleamed gold in the bright sun made her think of Cailan and the day she had first come to Ostagar, the doorway between her life before and her life now.

Alistair caught her studying him and gave her another sad smile before leaning down to kiss her. His lips were soft and gentle, a search for comfort rather than an insistent need, and she gave herself up to it. Her hands crept up around his neck and tangled in his hair as she breathed him in. When it ended, he held her in his arms, her head pressed against his chest.

Neve savored the sensation for a few minutes before lifting her head and pushing him far enough away that she could see his face. "So, here we are again."

"I can't stay away. You know that."

It was quiet, no voices but their own, just the soft pull of the breeze sighing through the crenellations.

"Don't you think we're just fooling ourselves? What we had is… over." She extracted herself fully from his arms and turned back to look out over the wall.

She felt Alistair come up behind her, his hands resting lightly on her hips as he bent down and kissed the back of her neck. Neve leaned back against his chest and they stared out into the distance together. The wind was making wide ripples in the long grasses, waves that dissolved against the stone of the Keep.

"Do you want it to be over?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

She closed her eyes. "No, I don't want it to be over. But, I don't know if I can live like this."

"Is it the uncertainty of when I would be here? I'm sure I could work out some sort of schedule so that you would—"

"It's not that." Neve could feel the lump forming in her throat. "It's the thought of living a… half life. Always being hungry. Having it never be enough."

"Isn't that better than nothing? Even if I could only see you once a year, that one day would make the rest of my year worth living for." She could hear his heartbreak spilling out in the way his voice trembled. "Don't you know how much you mean to me? Those months in Denerim, after… what happened, were so hard." He took a shuddering breath. "I don't know if I could do that again, knowing that, for the rest of our lives, I'd never… I just can't do it, Neve. I can't be without you."

"I don't know what to do," she whispered.

"I don't know what I'm doing, either. With anything. I'm just trying to not make a mess of things. More so, anyway."

Neve snorted softly. "It's a bit late for that, don't you think? It's about as fucked up as it gets."

Alistair rested his chin lightly against the top of her head. "Yeah, I'd say that's an accurate description of the situation. We could run away. Join up with the Wardens in some far off country. I've always wanted to see Rivain. Duncan's mother was from there, I think."

"Tempting, but not very practical."

"No, practical would be making do with what we have here, right now." He kissed the side of her neck and she shivered. His breath was warm against her ear. "I need you."

She turned to face him as his mouth crashed down against hers, hungry and wanting. The weight of his body pressed her against the stone as she melted into the hardness of his embrace. She deepened the kiss, feelings of unrestrained need and desire mingling with the heavy sense of despair. This was wrong. This was right. Nothing was real except for the demanding burn that was sweeping through her, his tongue teasing hers, the ache to be filled, to be soothed, to forget. Neve slid her palm against his chest, gently pushing him away.

"Stop." She was finding it hard to even form the words. They were both breathing heavily as he grazed her throat with his teeth. "Stop."

He looked at her, puzzled, his eyes still dark and hungry with desire.

It was a struggle for her to speak. "I want this. I want you." Neve grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him down to her, bruising his lips with a crushing kiss, before pushing him back once more. "But, it just fucking hurts too much. I don't know how I can do this without breaking." She turned away from him again as the tears started.

"Neve…" Alistair tugged her back around she buried her face in his chest.

She sobbed against him, her words broken up between gasps. "I lost Rel. I lost Dani. I lost you. It's all my fault. I can't do it anymore. I can't."

He held her tightly, as though he was afraid that she would disappear if he let go. "You haven't lost me. I keep coming back to you, remember? Look at me." His hands tenderly cupped the sides of her jaw to tilt her face up to his. "I'm right here." He traced away a tear from the corner of her eye with his thumb. "I love you. That's not going to change."

Her voice was shaking. "I love you, too, but we can't keep pretending that everything's the way it was. It's broken and we can't fix it. What we had before was more than I'd ever imagined," Neve bowed her head as more tears rolled down her cheeks, "but it's gone, Alistair."

"It's only gone if you choose to let it go." His words quivered as his control broke. "Is that what you want?"

"I don't know." She whispered the words into his chest, but she knew that they were a lie.

She did know.

"No, I don't want to let it… to let you, go."

"I don't want to let you go, either." Alistair wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her in his embrace. He smelled like her soap, not the musky one he normally used.

They clung to each other, both afraid to move.

Neve felt weak as the strong emotions ebbed away, leaving her drained and exhausted. "Can we sit?"

"Of course."

They sat down side by side, leaning their backs against the stone wall, her head resting against his shoulder. The wind dried her cheeks as she ran her fingers over the buttons on his shirt. "What was it you wanted to tell me?"

"What I wanted to tell you…?" She felt him stiffen. "Oh. Well, there are two things."

A chill crept down her spine. "Tell me."

"The first thing is… that you really need to start recruiting more Wardens."

"What?" She sat up as her apprehension gave away to surprise. This is what he wanted to talk about?

"You only have one mage and one warrior, when he's sober enough to know which end of the axe to hold; it's no wonder you were overwhelmed."

"Are you trying to tell me how to do my job? Are you fucking serious?"

Alistair poked her in her sore shoulder, making her wince. "Don't get all worked up. It was just an observation. And… a way of telling you that I recruited someone for you. Although, I didn't really have a choice."

"You recruited someone? Who?" The presence she had sensed earlier.

"One of my guards, Janna. She was tainted when we fought the darkspawn. She would've died if I hadn't put her through the Joining."

Neve let out the breath she'd been holding. "Okay. Tell me about her."

Alistair attempted a casual shrug, but the tightness in his shoulders remained. "She's been with the guard since I came to the palace. Strongest with a sword and shield. Fairly young. Seems pleasant enough."

She nodded. It felt a little odd to be adding another Warden—she'd grown to like the closeness of their small group—but it had nearly cost them their lives. Alistair was right; she'd put off recruiting for too long. They could really use another healer, and an offensive mage would be a huge asset as well. If only the thought of going to the Circle Tower didn't fill her with dread… Maybe she could send Nathaniel.

"What's the other thing?" She could feel the cold fear rolling off him in waves. What had he done? He hadn't brought Eamon back, had he?

"The other thing?" Alistair fiddled with the bottom-most button on his shirt for a moment before meeting her eyes.

She tensed. His apprehension was palpable. "You said you had two things to tell me. What's the other one?"

"There's no easy way to say this." Alistair looked at her sadly, apologizing with his eyes. "I'm betrothed."

She flinched as though a giant boulder had dropped down into her stomach with a cold finality. "You're what?"


	15. Forgiveness

**Chapter 15 – Forgiveness**

"I'm betrothed," Alistair said again, his voice cracking.

The ground beneath her dropped away and she was plummeting. Neve scrabbled back from against his side. They'd both known this was coming, but she hadn't expected it would happen so quickly.

"Oh." She mouthed the word, not yet able to speak.

He stretched his hand out to lie on top of hers, but she pulled hers away, ignoring the hurt in his eyes. A chasm had suddenly opened between them.

"Who is it?" Her voice trembled, despite her efforts.

"Elissa Cousland."

She curled her knees up to her chest, tucking herself into a protective ball, and shivered, despite the heat of the day. "From the family Howe had killed?"

Alistair nodded. "Their daughter. She fled to Denerim." His posture had deflated like an empty water skin and he started dejectedly at the stone beneath them.

"When?" she asked. The calm that pervaded her was eerie and deceptive; not calm—empty. It was almost as if she was both there and not there, an observer.

"The fall. Three months or so. Teagan's planning everything. I just have to show up. I'm good at  _that_ , I suppose." Alistair leaned his head back against the wall and stared up at the sky for a minute before turning his head towards her. "Are you going to get mad at me? I'd rather just get it over with, if you are."

Neve unwrapped her arms from around her knees and leaned back as well; the sharp jolt of pain from the back of her head made her wince while jealousy needled and pricked in her gut. "What's she like?"

Alistair laughed, a harsh sound that was almost a sob. "I don't know. I've only known her for a week."

Neve reached out to touch his hand and he clutched her fingers tightly, a drowning man struggling to stay afloat. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

He pulled her towards him and she folded in against his chest as his arms encircled her. He held her close, his body shaking. "Why did you make me king? I never wanted this. Never. You  _knew_  that."

A sour tendril of guilt slithered into her stomach. She'd known what being a Warden had meant to him, but she'd taken it away all the same.

For Ferelden.

She was no different than Eamon, dumping him at the Chantry and then walking away.

Neve swallowed. "There wasn't any other choice. Would you have left Anora on the throne, after everything Loghain did?"

It was a moment before he answered. "No." His voice was resigned, a broken horse following where it was led. "I understand why you did it. I just… wish it could've been different."

"Me, too."

They sat in silence, the wetness on her cheeks slowly leaking through the fabric of his shirt.

"I don't know how I'm supposed to… how I'm going to… be with someone who isn't you. You're all I want. All I've ever wanted."

Neve lifted her head up to look at him. "I'm sorry." Then she kissed him, the taste of her tears on his lips.

She had done this to him.

She had been the one who had made the decision, who had irrevocably destroyed what they'd had. As much as she wished that she could pretend that she hadn't  _really_  known what the consequences of her decision would be… she'd known.

She'd broken  _him_ , broken everything.

It was all her fault.

"Forgive me," she whispered against his mouth before claiming it once more. Alistair kissed her back, hard and fierce and full of longing as she slid onto his lap, straddling his legs, craving the closeness of his presence. She wanted nothing more at this moment than to simply let herself  _fall_ , not caring how far away the ground below was.

Alistair pulled away just enough to speak. "Please, don't leave me. I need you. Please." He buried his face into her neck, inhaling her scent, trailing up to bottom of her ear and sucking gently at the pulse point there.

"I won't leave you. I can't." Her breath was coming in gasps as she pushed him away from her throat so she could meet his eyes.

"Maker, Neve, I love you so much." He kissed her again with a desperate fury, his hands clenched at her hips, crushing her down against his hardness. She rocked against him, her hands sliding underneath his shirt, and he moaned into her mouth. His fingers found their way beneath her shirt as well, and it was her turn to gasp as Alistair palmed her breasts through the thin fabric of her breast band. She arched into his touch as he rolled her nipples between his fingers.

"Downstairs. Now." She could barely string the words together, her thoughts blowing away like scraps of parchment in the wind.

"No." He was tugging at her trousers. "Here."

"What if someone—"

Alistair kissed her deeply before yanking them down over her hips. "They won't. Guards will stop them."

Neve ran her hands down the plane of his chest as she released his mouth, lifting herself up and sliding her trousers off, taking her smalls with them. Perched on his knees, she fumbled with the ties on his trousers with unsteady fingers.

He was breathing heavily, devouring her with his eyes. "Maker's breath, you're beautiful." He cupped her jaw in his hand and ran his thumb over the pointed tip of her ear.

She shuddered. Without even knowing how she had managed it, the ties were undone, and Alistair shifted to pull them down enough to free himself. He hissed as she grasped his length, guiding him inside her as she settled down on top of him.

"Oh, Maker…" Alistair groaned, bucking his hips up against her as she started to move. Her head fell back as they rocked together, and she threaded her hands through his hair as Alistair sucked and nibbled at her exposed throat. His breath was warm, punctuated by gasps; his mouth connecting with her flesh in time with his snatched breaths. When his hand moved between them, his thumb finding that sweet spot that made it impossible to think, to do anything but feel, she heard herself moan. Her head tipped forward and she rested her forehead against his. At the touch, his eyes opened, glassy and muddled.

She fought to keep her eyes open, wanting to see him finish, but it was too much, she was too close to the edge. His name was a wordless shout as she clutched him, holding on as she lost herself. With a hoarse cry, he followed, grasping her so tightly that it hurt, though it barely registered.

As the euphoria faded, Neve slid down, resting her head on his chest. Alistair's arms were wrapped around her, his fingers stroking the nape of her neck. She traced a fingertip over the place where she could still feel his heart skittering wildly. The surface of her skin was tingling, like the tiny bubbles in the wine that Leliana had liked so much.

"What are we doing?" she whispered.

His fingers were trailing absently down the edge of her ear. "The same thing we did during the Blight. Surviving."

How many nights had they fallen into each other's arms, unable to speak about the day's horrors, losing themselves in the desire to just  _feel_ , to reassure themselves that they were still alive? The broodmother in the Deep Roads, the charred remains of Lothering and its tainted inhabitants… everything they had done, they had done to survive, to reach this point. Somehow, she had never expected their victory to feel this empty.

The sun was beginning to sink down lower in the sky, a blush of pink bleeding into the blue. The throb in her head and the ache in her muscles was getting harder to ignore—her torn shoulder, the tender area along her scars, her shins pressed into the stone. Neve sat up reluctantly.

"Are you all right?" Alistair pressed the back of his hand against her forehead. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have… I wasn't thinking. We—"

She silenced him with a soft kiss. "I think I need to go back to bed. To sleep."

They dressed slowly, listening to the birds calling mournfully in the gathering dusk. She leaned against him as they descended back into the Keep on the way to her room. They checked in with Oghren and Nathaniel as they passed and her relief that neither one was seriously injured was a huge weight lifted from her shoulders. Alistair was right. She needed more Wardens. She would send Nathaniel and Oghren—there was no fucking way she was sending Anders anywhere near that horrible tower—once they had recovered.

Alistair paused in her doorway after she'd stepped inside. "Did you want me to stay in the other room?" His hesitation, the cautious expression of a puppy who had been kicked too many times… it was as if they had drifted back in time to when he was just  _Alistair_. Before she had known that he was Maric's son.

Before everything had gone to shit.

Neve shook her head. "Stay with me."

He smiled, a real smile, as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

oOoOo

Neve's screaming woke him, and Alistair bolted straight up, reaching for the weapon that wasn't there. It took him a minute to process what was happening.

"Neve." He stroked the side of her cheek as she twisted and whimpered. "Neve, wake up."

"No… Rel, I can't. Please don't ask me to—" Her mumbled words turned into another scream, a keening wail that made his hair stand on end.

"Neve!" He took her shoulders and shook her gently.

She sat up abruptly, colliding with his jaw. "Ow! Fuck!" Her hands were shaking as she pressed them against a spot on the top of her head. "What are you doing?"

"Waking you up. You were screaming." He rubbed his jaw gingerly. "That must have been some nightmare."

"Oh." Neve exhaled forcefully. "Yeah, it was… bad."

"You were saying something about Rel. Are you okay?" He lifted her hands gently and kissed the top of her head. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, I'm okay." There was the barest hint of hesitation before she continued. "Just the same ones I've always had." She flopped back against the pillows with a strangled grunt. "Fuck! I don't know how I keep forgetting that every part of me hurts."

Alistair lay back down as well, and Neve snuggled in against his side. Her feet were freezing as she tangled her legs in his.

"I love you." Her words were nearly lost, muffled in the blankets, but there was no way he could miss them.

"I love you, too." There was no need to think about what tomorrow would bring, or the next day, or the next. For now, he was whole.

oOoOo

It was just after dawn when Alistair woke again, old habits still thoroughly entrenched, although it was his hunger that kept him from savoring the idea of a late morning lie-in with Neve. He was so ravenous it hurt.

Slipping from the bed, he spent a few minutes stretching before quickly getting dressed. Neve was curled tightly under the blankets, and he bent down to kiss her cheek. "I'm going to go get us some food. I'll be back soon."

She mumbled something incoherent and pulled her pillow over her head.

Alistair straightened his hair with his fingers before stepping into the hallway. He nodded at the pair on guard outside the door. "How is Janna doing?"

The one on the left smiled. "Much better. Thank you, your Majesty. Has her appetite back, that's for sure."

The other guard snickered. "Were you there at dinner? Did you see what she did with that tureen of gravy?"

Alistair smiled, remembering the way the other Wardens had teased him after his own Joining. Some days, it was still hard to believe that they were all gone. Once Ferelden was thriving again, he would commission a memorial at Ostagar—for them and for Cailan's army. He owed them that much, and Duncan, so much more. A private memorial at Highever, maybe after the wedding…

The wedding.

His thoughts shifted back abruptly as one of the guards cleared his throat and Alistair realized that he had been staring blankly at the man in front of him. "Right. Well, I'm very happy to hear it. I'm sure the Commander will be by to talk to her today." As much as he hated to shift the burden to Neve, he really didn't want to be the one to tell her about all the downsides that being a Warden entailed.

The other guard nodded. "I'll tell her, your Majesty."

"I'm headed down to the kitchens, anyway, so one of you can pop in and let her know."

The Keep was still mostly quiet as they made their way to the kitchens where Gerta was pulling loaves of freshly baked bread from the large stone oven.

"Your Majesty!" She nearly dropped the elongated wooden peel and the bread slid precariously close to the edge before she righted it. Flushing a deep crimson, she managed to slide the loaves on to the countertop to cool before curtseying deeply. "Forgive me, your Majesty."

"It's all right. Really. I was just hoping to sneak in early and get a tray to bring up to the Commander."

Gerta wiped her hands on her apron. "Of course, your Majesty. Anything in particular you'd like?"

"No, anything is fine." His stomach grumbled at the scent of the baked bread mixed with the spicy aroma of frying sausages. "Just lots of it, please."

Alistair watched as she scooped out bowls full of summer berries and arranged a platter of sausages and thick wedges of a hard orange cheese before carefully wrapping one of the fresh loaves in a thin towel. He gave her a warm smile as he took the tray from her outstretched hands. "Thank you."

Gerta bobbed into a small curtsey in response. "It was my pleasure, your Majesty."

He could barely contain himself—everything smelled  _so_  good—as he carried the full tray back up to Neve's room. She was still asleep, burrowed beneath the covers. He set the tray down and went back to pull the door closed behind him. Light was streaming in through the windows as he sat down next to her on the bed, lifting up the pillow to kiss her gently. Being here with her, where he belonged, where he couldn't be, filled his heart to bursting.

"Time to wake up," he whispered.

"No. Too early." She made a series of grumbling noises, her eyes still tightly closed, and fumbled for the pillow.

Alistair pulled it away, tossing it down to the foot of the bed. "I have food. Are you hungry?"

"No. Fuck off. Go away." Neve rolled and buried her face in the mattress.

"Okay, you asked for it. Remember that." He pulled back the blankets in one rough sweep, ignoring her squawk of protest. The sight of her sprawled out naked made his breath hitch, even now, after everything. He ran his hands lightly down her sides until he reached the curves of her hips.

"No!" Her voice was muffled by the mattress. "No tickling! You're mean! Don't—" She gasped as his fingers found the spot near her hipbones that he knew so well, and then she was squirming to get out of his grasp. "Stop! I can't—" She groaned and laughed, in spite of herself. "Just don't—"

"Don't what? Do… this?" Alistair's fingers trailed up the back of her thighs, digging them in just below the roundness of her backside.

Neve squealed, struggling to push his hands away before rolling over to face him. "I'm up, I'm up. Stop!"

Her short hair was mussed from sleep, sticking up wildly in spots and curling peculiarly in others, as she gazed up at him with feigned annoyance. The tiny quirk of a smile at the corner of her mouth gave her away, and he wanted, more than anything, to kiss that hidden smile that was only for him. She was panting a little from the forced laughter, the heaving of her chest drawing his gaze downward. The way she was looking at him—Maker, he could barely breathe.

How had they ended up here, together, yet apart? He was getting married to a stranger in less than three months. What were they going to do?

"Alistair?" She lifted her hand to his face, running her thumb down his jaw. "Are you all right?"

He wished that he could cling to this moment forever: the way the sunlight brought out the reddish highlights in her hair, the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips as he caressed her cheek, the taste of her mouth against his own as he leaned down. The kiss was gentle, soft, and still, their lips meeting for the barest of moments before he pulled back.

She opened her eyes, searching his own—what did she see there?—before pulling him down towards her once more. She was kissing him, all the things they couldn't say passing between them, heartbreakingly sweet and unhurried. He moved from her mouth to her neck, taking in her scent as he worked his way down to the dip of her collarbone. Her hands held the back of his head; her breath a series of quiet sighs.

As if they had all the time in the world, he reveled in the softness of her skin as he untangled one of her hands from his hair and kissed her shoulder, her arm, her palm, her fingers. She shuddered, her voice barely a whisper. "Alistair."

It nearly undid him.

Her eyes were closed as he brushed a kiss under her jaw, then another just below her ear. "Neve." He kissed her mouth, memorizing the sensation of her lips and tongue against his. Her hands slid under his shirt, ghosting as far up his chest as she could reach, and it was his turn to stifle a moan. Her fingers trailed over his skin, mapping out his flesh.

Alistair broke the kiss to lift his shirt up and over his head. His hands were shaking. Neve's hand slid along the top of his thigh, coming achingly close before stopping. He wanted to take his time—everything had always seemed so rushed, snatching at the moments they were given without stopping to savor them.

Not today.

Neve shuffled over towards the center of the bed so that he could lie down next to her, drawing her in against his chest as he reclaimed her mouth. Her arms twined around his neck, her fingers stroking his hair. It was like a dream, everything around them blurred and out of focus. Alistair let his hands drift down over her sides, feeling the ridges of her scars. She pressed closer to him, her hips seeking his hardness still uncomfortably contained in his trousers. He stopped her as she reached between them to grab at the ties. "Not yet." His voice was thick. He was sinking down, drowning in her, and he wanted to prolong the sensation for as long as possible.

With his mouth, he searched out the spots that he had discovered so long ago; the ones that made her gasp, the ones that made her hands clench tightly in his hair, the ones that made her helpless to do anything other than whimper his name. She was practically writhing, her body arching into every touch, every tease of his tongue. "Alistair, please…"

He loosened his trousers and slipped them off, crying out as their bodies joined. It was hard to go slowly, but it was so agonizingly sweet. He could feel the sweat beading on his brow and could taste the matching saltiness on her skin. His breathing was labored as he struggled to both maintain his control and lose it utterly.

He was floating on a wave, so far out to sea that the shore wasn't even a memory. There was nothing but the rising tide surging within him.

His forehead rested against hers as he forced his eyes open, watching her mouth form the wordless cries that mimicked his own. Every nerve was stretched to its limit as they hung there, toes curled over the edge, daring one another to fall.

Neve fell first, with a shout of relief as she clenched around him.

He didn't want it to be over. Not yet. But, he couldn't last any longer, not with the way she was holding him, murmuring his name over and over. He shattered, rocked forward by a feeling so intense that he lost all sense of himself.

There was nothing but her.

It took a few minutes before he realized that he was crying. Neve had wrapped herself around him, her cheek pressed tightly against his chest, as his tears fell.

He had done this to her.

He should have fought harder, persuaded the Landsmeet to accept her. She'd saved Ferelden, if not all of Thedas—so what if she wasn't human or a noble? Instead, he had pushed her away, as if what they'd had together meant nothing. He had been the one who had made the decision to walk away, to irrevocably destroy what they'd had.

He'd broken  _her_ , broken everything.

It was all his fault.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair. "Forgive me."


	16. Been There, Done That

**Chapter 16 – Been There, Done That**

The food that Alistair had brought up was cold by the time they had collected themselves enough to eat it, though Neve scarcely noticed. She was ravenous—Alistair clearly was, too—and they both wolfed down their portions quickly, simultaneously too hungry for conversation and uneager to interrupt the almost uneasy stillness that had fallen over them. She arranged her plate on the tray along with the other dishes and sat back with a sigh. Alistair was staring absently at the other side of the room, his empty plate still resting on his knees.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked. Making love this morning had been so achingly slow and sweet, and she still couldn't tell if what had happened between them was intended to be a parting or a reaffirmation. She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer yet.

His gaze drifted back to hers. "What? No, I'm fine. I was just thinking about something I need to do." He shifted his leg, realizing at the last moment that his plate was still balanced there, and stretched out to catch it just before it hit the floor.

"Something you need to do?" She looked at him, puzzled, as he stood up, depositing his plate on top of the others.

Alistair leaned down and kissed her softly. "Something I should have done a long time ago. If I had, maybe you would have…" He stopped and shook his head sadly. "Never mind. Not going there today. Hang on."

He crossed the room to the corner where their rucksacks lay—she really should unpack everything and get it all cleaned and put away—and began rummaging through his own pack. What was he doing? He straightened up after a moment, something clutched tightly in his right hand.

"What are you—?"

"You'll see." He was faintly flushed, a look she remembered well from their early days traveling together, as his eyes darted briefly around the room. "This way." He extended his left hand towards her.

"I—"

He cut off her protest almost instantly. "Please, just trust me, all right?"

"All right." She gave him a searching look, which he seemed to deliberately ignore, and allowed him to lead her over to the cushioned window seat tucked in the alcove of her room's central window. Neve sat first, curling her legs underneath her, as Alistair perched himself next to her.

Was he sweating?

He swallowed. "Okay, right. So, there's something that I wanted to give you. I meant to do it before… but I'd wanted to wait for the right time, and then everything… got messed up and I didn't know—" Alistair took a deep breath. "Wait. That was terrible. I'm starting over. Forget I said the other stuff. What I meant to say was—"

There was a loud knock at the door.

Neve glanced at the door and back at him. "I should probably get that."

He shrugged, his shoulders a little too tight for him to come off as casual as he was trying to be. "No problem. We can do this later." He stood up quickly and crammed his hands into his pockets.

"Come in." She gave Alistair a concerned look, but he just gave her a half smile and another fake shrug of indifference.

Varel strode into the room and bowed deeply. "Your Majesty." He turned to her. "Commander." He smiled at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "It's good to see you up and around."

Neve returned the smile. "It's good to be moving again." She took in the pile of papers in his arms. "Let me guess, there's endless supply of things that need to be sorted out."

Varel nodded. "I've done what I can while you've been away but, yes, there are some matters the need to be attended to. Bann Esmerelle—"

"No, you don't. Anything but her. She can wait."

She could tell he was biting back what he wanted to say, as he was only able to manage a mangled sigh. "Very well, but you can't put her off forever."

_Oh, yes, she fucking could._

"The other thing I was hoping to address immediately is the placement of the new Warden. I assume you would like her to have a room along this corridor, with the rest of you?"

Neve nodded. "Of course."

Varel shifted the papers in his arms awkwardly. "Excellent. I shall make the arrangements to have one of the spare rooms made ready immediately."

"Thanks, Varel."

"No need to thank me. I'll just leave these here for you to look at…" He attempted to square the pile with his hands before giving up and placing the slightly haphazard stack of parchment on the table. "Is there anything else you require?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so."

"Then, I shall take my leave." Varel bowed again. "Your Majesty. Commander."

When the door finally closed behind him, she turned to Alistair, who was still standing by the window. "Now, where were we? You wanted to give me something?"

He seemed to hesitate. "It can wait until… after. It's nothing important."

Alistair really was a horrible liar: the sag in his shoulders, the way his hands were stretching the fabric of his pockets completely taut, the tightness in his smile. Neve crossed the room and wrapped her arms around him. "Are you sure? This stuff can wait a few more minutes, you know."

He thought for a moment and then shook his head, seeming to brighten a little. "It's all right. Just don't make dinner plans, okay?"

_Dinner plans?_

"Oh, sorry, I forgot to tell you. I've already invited Bann Fuckwit and Arlessa Fuckington for tea. I do hope you don't mind, your Majesty." She stepped back and performed an elaborate, if undignified, curtsey before looking up at him with a wink.

He stifled a smile before giving her a curt bow. "Yes, well, I would be more than delighted to make their acquaintance and I would like to offer my sincere hope that this will be the beginning of a long and prosperous relationship for all of us. I look forward to an engaging discourse on the proposed textiles tariffs and the ramifications they will have for their freeholders."

Neve stared at him, a wisp of sadness curling up around her heart like the twist of smoke from an snuffed candle. "You're getting good at that."

Alistair gave her the ghost of a smile. "Practice makes perfect."

They both stood there, bound by the chill of having crossed the line they were both trying so hard to pretend didn't exist. Alistair broke the silence, steering them away from the abyss. "I forgot to tell you earlier, Janna's expecting you at some point today. She doesn't know anything yet about… what becoming a Grey Warden really means. I didn't think it was my place to say."

Neve took a deep breath and ran a hand across the top of her head. She'd only had to do this once before, and it had gone infinitely better than she had expected. This time, however, she wasn't so sure. "No problem. I'll talk to her. I should really go check in with everyone else, too." She looked at the papers that Varel had left, making a face. "And, look at those."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I don't know. You could sort through what Varel brought, if you want. Don't feel like you have to."

"I can do that." He pulled her in and kissed her, not stopping until they were both breathless. Neve ran her hands down his chest to caress the hard bulge in his trousers until he groaned and pulled her hand away. "You're incorrigible, you know that, don't you? Try not to be too long."

She reached up on the tips of her toes and gave him another quick kiss. "I'll do my best."

oOoOo

Neve knocked on the doors of each of the other Wardens' rooms, but there was no answer behind any of them—no Nathaniel, no Oghren, no Anders. It was a bit late in the morning now for them to be at breakfast… the training yard, maybe? As she walked past, she noticed that the door to the laboratory was open just a sliver, and she pushed it open just far enough to peek inside.

Anders stood with his back to her, going back and forth between examining the contents of a rack of vials and scribbling in the notebook that lay beside them. This wasn't a room she was in often, but there was no mistaking how much work Anders had put into its restoration. Gone were the dusty crates and carelessly boxed up bottles of reagents and herbs. In their place, there were shelves filled with neatly labeled jars, some containing ingredients she recognized from her time with Morrigan; others, she doubted she could even pronounce. Specialized wooden trays were lined with vials of colorful liquids, each of these marked in Anders' meticulously tight cursive as well. There was only one chair aside from a handful of crude stools, and Ser Pounce-a-Lot lay dozing on the upholstery like a lumpy orange cushion.

She cleared her throat so as not to startle him. "Morning."

He turned, his face breaking into a smile, as he lay his quill down on the top of the table. "Good morning. How are you feeling?"

"Not too bad, surprisingly. You?" She walked in and pulled up a stool next to the chair, reaching over to rub the cat's head. Ser Pounce-a-Lot was leaner and lankier now, no longer an insubstantial puff of kitten, and he began to purr as she continued to massage the edges of his ears. He didn't even bother to open his eyes.

"Getting better. More or less back to normal." Anders summoned tiny licks of flame around the tips of his fingers. "Magic's mostly back, too." He wiggled his fingers at her.

"Glad to hear it. How are Nathaniel and Oghren? I stopped by their rooms, but they weren't there." Her hand paused momentarily, and Ser Pounce-a-Lot stirred enough to rub his cheek up against it, his head sinking down once more as she complied.

"Fully recovered and back to normal. Last night, Oghren was running around half-naked mumbling something about 'schleets' while Nate chased him around with a pair of trousers saying he was frightening the servants. Typical evening, really. We missed you." After a quick glance back to make sure he wasn't about to knock anything over, he leaned back against the table, resting his elbows against the edge.

Neve snorted. "Where are they now?"

"The training yard. I'm planning to head down there for a bit after I'm done here. You feel up to it?" His gaze brushed over her suddenly in a way that was oddly disarming, his brown eyes soft and warm.

"I'm still a bit sore, but I've spent too many days resting already. So… yes, I think I will. I have to talk to Janna first, though."

Anders paused. "Janna? Oh, is she the new Warden Varel was talking about?"

Neve grimaced and nodded. "That's her. I'm about to go give her the 'welcome to the Wardens, let me tell you about all the ways we've just fucked you over' speech."

Anders pushed himself upright, pulling over a stool next to hers and sitting down. "It's not  _that_  bad. Nate and I took it all pretty well." He reached over to stroke down the line of Ser Pounce-a-Lot's back, and the cat's rumbling purrs grew even louder at the added attention, his paws kneading lightly against the fabric. "Who's a good kitty? Hmm?" Anders looked up at her and smiled, and she suddenly found herself overly aware of the  _nearness_  of him. It was as if the air in the room had somehow gotten thicker.

"True, but it's not like the two of you had much to lose. She's, well… normal. She must have a family, maybe even children." The thought made her stop cold. She shook her head. It was too late now, and she would have died anyway—in a much more horrific fashion, too—if Alistair hadn't done what he had.

"Are you saying I'm not normal? I'm hurt."Anders slid his hand around to Ser-Pounce-a-Lot's stomach, causing the cat to bat at him halfheartedly with a paw.

Neve snorted again. "If you're normal, I'm the Queen of Antiva."

"You are?" He gave her a wide-eyed look before dropping off the stool to his knees. "A thousand pardons for not recognizing you, your Majesty. Who knew you were an elf?" Grabbing her hand, he pressed a kiss to the back of it before grinning up at her. "Your humble servant begs your forgiveness and will do  _anything_  your heart desires to obtain it."

"Fuck off, Anders." Trying to make light of the flush that had crept into her cheeks, she stood and offered him a hand up. "And  _that's_  why you're not normal. Thanks for proving my point."

"What can I say? I aim to please and I've been told I'm very good at… pleasing." His voice was low and husky as he quirked up one eyebrow at her.

She rolled her eyes. "Do you have a book of those somewhere or do you just make them up as you go?"

"Maybe I'm just naturally charming." He grinned and winked.

"You keep telling yourself that." She pushed a hand through her hair, making it stick up everywhere in a mess of random spikes. "Well, I suppose I've put off talking to Janna long enough. Wish me luck." She turned to go.

"Oh! Before you go…"

"Yes?" Neve turned back to face him.

"I should have a new batch of sleeping potions ready for you to try later today. I got an answer back from my letter to Avernus, and he had had a few suggestions for tweaking the formulation."

"You have no idea how happy that makes me. I swear, they've been getting worse, and I don't even know how that's possible." She shivered, remembering last night's nightmare. Rel. At least Alistair had been there to wake her before she'd reached the worst part.

"Hey, while you're here, do you mind if I take another blood sample? I have another experiment I want to try."

"I suppose. You're really getting into this, aren't you?" Neve shrugged before walking back over to her stool and sitting down. "You know Avernus is fucking crazy, right?" The memory of  _his_  experiments made her shudder.

Anders had picked up a small knife and was running the tip through a conjured flame nestled in his palm, but he stopped to look at her. "I know he is. I've read the journals you brought back. Trust me, I have no interest whatsoever in blood magic or slaughtering the rest of you to appease my scientific curiosity." He paused. "Well, maybe just Nate. You know, to see what actually  _did_  crawl up his ass and die."

"Hey, play nice. He kept all of our asses alive out there. Besides, you'd be like that, too, if you'd had Rendon Howe as a father. I try not to think about the fact that we're living in his home because it gives me the fucking creeps."

Anders delicately lifted an empty vial from one of the racks and sat down on the stool next to her. He turned to look at her, his expression still and serious. "I would never do what Avernus did. I've heard more than enough demons whispering in the dark to know that they always lie."

Behind the seeming calm, Neve could see the quiet desperation that lurked in his eyes. They had locked him up, alone, for an entire year. To have withstood the temptation that the demons must have offered him in the Fade… she couldn't even imagine.

"I know. I trust you," she said quietly as he took her hand in his.

"Glad to hear it." His eyes lingered on her face for another moment before they dropped. "Just a little sting." She forced herself not to flinch as he sliced the tip of the knife deeply into the pad of her thumb, blood beading up immediately in a dark crimson bubble. He pinched the end of her thumb between his fingers, squeezing droplets into the vial he held in his other hand. With his head bent over her lap, she could smell the scent of the soap he must have used to wash his hair, spicy and sort of sweet, almost like cinnamon. He carefully grazed her thumb against the vial's edge and another drop rolled down to join the others.

"So, what is this for, anyway?" she asked.

"I think I've found a technique that will give me a rough estimate of the concentration of the taint in our blood. Your head wound earlier got me wondering if the taint is actually more like a poison rather than an infection. We know that exposure to darkspawn blood causes people to become blighted, and most succumb quickly. So, it must be the other elements of the Joining, the archdemon blood combined with the lyrium, which somehow neutralize the effect."

"Makes sense." It was kind of mesmerizing, watching the beads of blood rolling down the glass.

"But, we know it doesn't last. Over time, Wardens become more and more tainted, too. It's the same process as for regular people who become corrupted, just much slower. My guess is that the combination of archdemon blood and lyrium creates some sort of temporary antidote. Or, maybe they react with the body's tissues to allow us to filter out the harmful by-products that being tainted causes? I'm not sure yet." He paused in thought, still methodically squeezing and scraping her thumb. The vial was nearly one third full now.

"Now, we already know that lyrium potions start losing potency within a year or two of being made. It would make sense that the lyrium bound in our bodies would degrade in a similar manner, so our internal antidote gradually becomes less and less effective." Anders let one last drop roll down into the vial. "Perfect. Thank you!" He handed her a clean square of cloth from the neat pile on the edge of the table. "Put some pressure on that while I get this ready."

Neve pressed the cloth tightly against her thumb, watching Anders as he carefully added drops of reagents from several other bottles before inserting the stopper into the vial. Holding it between his fingers, he inverted it a few times before placing it in one of the racks on the tabletop. He reached for his quill and ink, scratching away in his notebook for a minute, before turning back to her with a soft smile. "Done! Let me see your thumb." He cradled her hand in his and ran the tip of his index finger along the cut, her eyes involuntarily falling closed as an incredible feeling of warmth coursed through her thumb and down into the rest of her fingers.

"Thanks." She ran the tip of her index finger over the pad of her thumb where the skin was now pink and perfectly unmarked once more.

"No trouble at all. Is there anything else that needs healing while you're here? I know I wasn't able to heal up everything before, especially not after the… smite." She felt him tense and then relax with a sad sort of smile.

"Nothing urgent. My head and shoulder are still as sore as fuck, but you don't need to waste your mana on them."

"I don't mind. I'll do your head first. Can you lean forward a bit?"

She bowed her head and he pressed closer to her. His fingers trailed over her scalp, and she winced as they probed the thin line that had been left by the hurlock alpha's poisoned blade. A similar feeling of warmth flooded through her head and she nearly gasped with relief.

"Better?" he asked as she brought her head back up.

"Much." She hadn't realized how much her head had been throbbing until the sensation was gone.

"Let me take a look at your shoulder. That bite was pretty nasty." He began to roll up her sleeve, but stopped midway along her forearm.

Shit. Her sleeves were too tight. For him to have access to her shoulder, she was going to have to—

"You're going to have to take off your shirt." He gave her a knowing smile that bordered on a leer.

Fuck.

Neve stood up. "It's okay, don't worry about that one. It's fine."

"You know, I'm a healer. I see this stuff all the time. Besides, I've already seen you without a shirt… more than once, actually, so what difference does it make?" He had the audacity to grin at her. "I could always take off my robes. You know, if it would make you feel more comfortable."

"You are such a fucking asshole."

"I believe the word you were looking for there was 'charming.' Come on, sit down and let me heal you. It's why you keep me around, right? You might as well use me." He tapped a finger against his chin. "Yes, definitely use me. Please?"

Neve made a noise of disgust. Her shoulder  _was_  incredibly sore and he regrettably  _did_  have a point that he had certainly seen it all before. "Fine, since we seem to making some sort of habit out of this. Should we pick a time for tomorrow now, or do you want it to be a surprise?" She pulled her shirt roughly over her head, grimacing as the fabric grazed across her right shoulder.

"Do you even need to ask? A surprise, of course." He sat down on the stool, bringing himself close to eye level with the wound. "You know, you could make more of an effort, though." He probed the edges of the ragged flesh with the tip of his finger before leaning around to look at her face. "I mean, really. That's the same breast band you wore yesterday. Don't you have anything lacy? Or maybe one of those nug-skin ones. I hear those are—"

The crack of his jaw as she punched him made Ser Pounce-a-Lot bolt up on to the back of the chair with a surprised yowl.

"Fuck!" Anders rubbed his jaw tentatively. "You could have just told me to shut up."

"I thought I just did." Neve flexed her fingers and then shook out her hand. "You have an impressively hard jaw."

Anders managed a grin. "Would you like me to show you  _why_  I have such wonderfully developed jaw muscles?"

"You just don't quit, do you?" She smiled in spite of herself, and then reached out and scratched Ser Pounce-a-Lot's head. The purring started again immediately, despite the fact that he was still clinging desperately to the upholstery.

"Nope. If you give up, then they've won." His eyes held that same haunted look before he blinked and looked away. "Let's see that shoulder of yours."

Neve turned so that her right shoulder was facing him as Anders sat down on the edge of the chair. Ser Pounce-a-Lot ambled down, settling in next to Anders' leg, and Anders stroked him absently with one hand. He ran the fingers of his other hand over her mangled skin and she shivered. "This one is probably going to scar."

She snorted. "Not really a big concern. Have you seen my side? Oh, wait, of course you have."

"Yes, you have very nice… sides. Hold still." His eyes fluttered shut and the familiar heat of being healed rippled through her arm. She could almost taste his magic if she concentrated—a hint of spice that reminded her of the scent of his hair. Her skin felt as though it was being pulled and stretched back into place, not painful, but acutely uncomfortable. Anders' breathing was deep and even, almost as if he had fallen asleep, but she could still feel the hum of magic pulsing in her arm.

A long moment passed before the sensation began to diminish and Anders' eyes reopened slowly. "I've done what I could. It shouldn't be too bad." Neve peered down at her shoulder as Anders' fingertip ghosted across the puckered scar that remained. "It looks sort of like a rose."

A rose.

Clearly, the Maker had a fucking fantastic sense of humor.

Was this going to be the last time she and Alistair had together? He was getting married, for fuck's sake, to some dumbass noble who had no idea what it was like to do without, to not know if you were going to eat from one day to the next, to not have to use yourself to survive.

She stood up abruptly and reached for her shirt. "Thanks, Anders. I appreciate it, but I should really get going."

"Are you all right?" Anders was looking at her with a puzzled expression and Ser Pounce-a-Lot took the opportunity to slide over into Anders' lap, stretching out across his knees.

"Yeah, I've just got a lot… going on right now." She pulled her shirt over her head, tugging down the edges and smoothing out her hair.

Anders scratched Ser Pounce-a-Lot's head. "Well, I'm here if you need me. In any capacity you desire."

Neve reached down and gave his hand a quick squeeze. "Thanks. I'll see you later."

She had already started for the door as he called after her. "Good luck."

oOoOo

As the door closed behind her, Anders sank back into the chair with a loud sigh.

Andraste's arse, why did he have to be so attracted to her? She was involved with the bloody King of Ferelden—of all people—so what chance could he possibly have? Not to mention that he'd acted like an utter idiot.

Again.

He needed to stop thinking about her, about how she would feel in his arms, her mouth against his, hot and wanting. What would it be like to strip off that blasted breast band and feel her arch against him as he—?

Maker's balls, this was  _not_  helping.

In fact, based on the activity in his trousers, this was definitely only making things worse.

He just needed to concentrate on something else, and soon, before he needed to steal off to his room for a while to ease his discomfort.  _Sure, because fantasizing about her while doing_ that _wasn't going to make things worse._

He slid Ser Pounce-a-Lot from his lap, ignoring the plaintive mewl of protest, and stretched his arms over his head, bending from side to side.  _Think about something else. Anything else._  His gaze fell on the rack of vials on the table. Perfect. The reagents he'd added should have had enough to time to react by now. Anders carefully drew out the vial of Neve's blood and held it up to the light. He stopped, all of his previous thoughts dissipating. "Huh."

That was unexpected.

Would Alistair's be like that, too?

Anders slipped the vial back into its position in the rack and began to scribble madly in his notebook.


	17. Welcome To The Wardens

**Chapter 17 – Welcome to the Wardens**

Neve took a deep breath and knocked.

"Come in." The answering voice was husky and low, yet distinctly feminine.

Neve opened the door and stepped inside. The former guard took her in for the briefest moment before snapping to attention with a brisk salute. "Commander."

Neve smiled politely. "You don't need to do that. We're not really big on formalities here. You must be Janna. I'm Neve."

Janna returned the smile, flipping the end of her long braid over her shoulder with a practiced ease. "I'm very pleased to meet you. I know  _of_  you, of course. I was at the gates during the Battle of Denerim. Captain Farel's regiment."

"I remember hearing afterwards that the groups at the gates took heavy losses." Neve's memories of the battle were hazy at best, the damage that she'd taken from the Archdemon having obliterated most of them. She remembered Alistair's anger at being left behind—their final confrontation before she had stormed past him into the city. But, more than anything, what clung to her fragmented memories of that day was a feeling of heaviness, a shard of ice plunged deep into her chest… like when she had lost Rel. She blinked, feeling the ghost of that weight settling into her, like rainwater seeping into shattered stone.

"We did. From my regiment, there was only a handful that survived. It's where I got this." Janna held up her left hand, the tips missing from her last three fingers. "It's my shield arm, at least, and my grip is still passable, so it could have been worse."

"I'd show you mine, but I'd have to take off my shirt and, trust me when I say that I'm not doing  _that_  again today. Don't ask," Neve said, at Janna's puzzled expression. "How are you settling in so far?"

"It's going to be strange, not going back to Denerim. I've lived there my whole life. The room is wonderful, though. It's been a long time since I've had a room all to myself." She smiled; an easy, confident grin that reminded Neve of Anders.

"Do you have family there? A husband?" Neve couldn't bring herself to ask about children.

"My parents, my brother, and a few aunts and uncles. Cousins. I'm not married. There's too much fun to be had without being tied down, if you know what I mean." She grinned at Neve.

Neve couldn't help the small sigh of relief that escaped. "I know what you mean."  _Although, I'm sure someone else here knows what you mean far more than I do._  The thought set her strangely on edge and she brushed her hand roughly across the hair on top of her head. "There are a few other things we need to talk about as well."

"Of course." Janna stood up a little straighter, her posture clearly one of someone accustomed to taking orders.

"Why don't we sit down?" Neve gestured at chairs that sat next to the window, relics of some bygone era where, no doubt, generations of Howes had once sat. The garishly colored upholstery clashed horrifically with the muted colors that dominated the rest of the room. Janna sat down, her expression serious, as Neve perched on the edge of her chair like a bird ready to take flight. She took a deep breath. "So, what do you already know about the Grey Wardens?"

"As much as anybody does, I suppose. They're dedicated to stopping Blights and they answer to no one but themselves. There's a secret ritual that you go through when you join them, but I know about that one already." She chuckled, a warm, rich sound. "They're immune to the Blight disease. They're always hungry. I can certainly vouch for that one. And, they're supposed to have the most amazing… stamina. Please, tell me that one's true."

Neve allowed herself a small smile, thinking of what it had been like after she and Alistair had finally succumbed to the power of their mutual attraction. It slowly faded as the thoughts of the way things were now crept in, bleeding away the color of her memories and leaving them as stark as shadows.

"Yes, the stamina one is true, and everything else you said as well. Only a Grey Warden can stop a Blight, although we don't need to get into the details of  _why_  that is right now." The last thing Neve needed at the moment was someone else wondering why she was still alive. As much as she'd tried to push the thoughts of Morrigan from her mind, she really needed to speak with Alistair again about finding her. Surely he had Zevran looking for her by now, although she hadn't heard anything from him in months. Was he still in Antiva?

Janna was looking at her expectantly as Neve abruptly pulled her thoughts back to the task at hand. She rubbed the palms of her hands over her knees. "Grey Wardens operate independently of any nation, and stopping a Blight takes priority over everything else. If there was an Archdemon in Orlais, that's where we would all be headed, without question."

Janna stopped her. "Then why didn't the other Wardens come to Ferelden to help us? There's a branch in every country in Thedas, isn't there?"

Neve sighed. "The Orlesians tried, although I don't know about anyone else. Loghain wouldn't let them in. Just because we don't answer to anyone doesn't mean we don't get fucked over by politics." She plowed ahead, determined not to let her momentum drop now that she had started. "Grey Wardens  _are_  immune to Blight disease, in a way, because we essentially already have it. It just takes a lot longer for us to fully feel the effects. Being tainted like we are has its advantages. We can sense darkspawn and each other, although that takes a while to develop. Eventually, darkspawn will be able to sense  _you_  as well."

"I've had a few nightmares since the Joining. Is that normal?" Janna grimaced, leaning back in her chair.

"During a Blight, we often see the Archdemon in our dreams." Neve shuddered involuntarily. "But, yes, nightmares are normal, even outside of a Blight."

Janna leaned forward and eyed her slowly. "I take it these aren't going to go away?"

"They should. Over time, you'll have them less often." It was an effort to keep her expression neutral. Hopefully, Anders latest sleeping draught would be more effective than the last one. "There are... other downsides, too. You already mentioned the hunger. It's not a huge deal here, where we have more than enough but, when you don't, it's almost unbearable."

That _was the biggest fucking understatement of the year._

She remembered sobbing, her stomach aching so badly that she could barely breathe; she and Alistair guiltily sneaking extra rations from the group's limited food stores because the pain was just too much to endure. "The taint changes us in ways we don't fully understand yet. We do know that it's almost impossible for a Warden to have children. I don't know if that's an issue for you, or not."

Janna shook her head and smiled. "No issues there. In fact, that makes things easier, in a lot of ways."

Neve swallowed. Janna's hair was the same pale blonde that Dani's had been. How many more lives did she need to destroy? "The other thing we know is that the taint shortens our lives. We're still corrupted… and it catches up to us. Apparently, you start to hear the Old Gods singing to you, just like the darkspawn hear all the time. When your Calling comes, most Wardens make their way to the Deep Roads in Orzammar to fall in battle before becoming fully corrupted."

"How long do we have, after the Joining?" Janna had gone still.

"It depends a little on how old you were at the time of your Joining, but it seems to be around twenty years or so, from what I've heard."

"Oh!" Janna relaxed back into the chair. "That's not so bad."

Neve exhaled loudly. "Can I just say that you're taking all of this way better than I did?"

"In twenty years, I'm going to be getting too old for this kind of life anyway. If I'd stayed with the palace guard for twenty years, they'd have stuck me with some boring job doing paperwork or, if I was lucky, training recruits. I have no desire to be hobbling around with people feeling sorry for me." She shrugged. "Besides, I  _was_  dying when his Majesty put me through the Joining. I figure everything I've got now is just a bonus, and I don't intend to waste it."

"I'm sorry we couldn't tell you all of this in advance, not that it would have made much of a difference in your case. Do you have any questions? Anything I can help with?"

"You've answered most of them already." Janna thought for a moment. "Are there any rules here about... fraternization, just so I know?"

Neve shook her head. "No rules, as long as it doesn't interfere with your duties."  _Right, like she was one to talk._  "Your pickings are pretty slim at the moment, though, unless you have a thing for dwarves that smell like they've been marinating inside a keg for a few days."

"I don't know, the dark-haired one is cute and the blond one with the ponytail looks like fun." Janna grinned.

Neve tried to ignore the prickle of—was it annoyance?—that rippled through her. "I'll take you down to the training yard and introduce you to everyone."

"That would be great. I feel like I've been lying around doing nothing for days. Oh, and I suppose I'm going to need new armor and weapons, since what I have now technically belongs to the palace guard."

Neve stood up. "Not a problem. We have some extra equipment that Weisshaupt sent and we should be able to find you something suitable."

"Sounds good to me." Janna rose as well. "Thanks, Commander. I'm ready when you are."

"Let's go see what you can do then."

oOoOo

The heat of the summer sun hit them like a wall as they strolled out to the training yard, having stopped first to retrieve Neve's cleaned armor from Varel, and then at the equipment room to find practice leathers for Janna. The air outside was sticky and humid, settling on Neve's skin as she walked, a sharp contrast to the coolness that lingered within the stone walls of the Keep. She couldn't help a small sigh at the smell of the fresh grass with the softest whisper of salt from the sea. Summers in the Alienage had reeked of piss and garbage, a stench that she'd honestly never even noticed until she'd returned during the Blight.

Neve glanced over at Janna walking beside her, the silence between them still slightly more awkward than comfortable. As much as she appreciated the fact that they really did  _need_  more Wardens, the thought of disrupting their now closely-knit group made her a little unsettled. In the distance, she could see Nathaniel shooting arrows at a target towards the far end of the yard. His movements were precise and unerring as he drew an arrow from the quiver at his back, nocked it and shot, his hand already reaching back for the next one. Oghren sat slumped on one of the long benches that lined the side of the yard next to the Keep, watching Nathaniel fire and taking the occasional long draw from his waterskin. He was the first to notice them approaching.

"Hey! Commander! You finally getting your sodding ass back to work, or what?"

Neve maneuvered through the narrow gap in the fence, motioning for Janna to follow her. "Yeah, you certainly look like you're working hard. Picking up the finer points of archery, are you? Or are you just staring at Nathaniel's ass?"

"Eh. Can't it be both?" Oghren belched and wiped his mouth on his arm as he pushed himself upright, giving her a grin. "Good to have you back to normal, Commander. Not that I was worried about you, in case you're getting the wrong idea."

Neve slapped him on the shoulder. "It's good to be back." She turned and beckoned Janna closer. "This is Janna, our new Warden. Janna, this is Oghren."

Oghren looked her slowly up and down. "Not a dwarf, but she'll do, I guess. I approve."

"Keep it in your pants, dwarf. Are you and Anders teaming up now?"

Neve gave Oghren a playful shove just as Nathaniel walked up, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "Commander, how are you feeling?"

"Better, thanks. How's the leg?"

Nathaniel picked up a waterskin from the bench and took a short pull. "Still a bit stiff, but it's not too bad." He turned to Janna and offered her his hand. "You must be Janna. I'm Nathaniel."

"I'm very pleased to meet you, both of you," she said with a warm smile that was clearly only for Nathaniel's benefit. She turned to Oghren, giving him the same slow appraisal he had given her. "I'm more than you can handle anyway, so don't get your hopes up."

"A challenge? Well, now, they didn't call me the ladykiller of Orzammar for nothing." Oghren waggled his eyebrows suggestively, earning himself another shove from Neve.

"No Anders yet?" Neve asked.

Nathaniel shook his head and drank again. "I haven't seen him since breakfast, where it would have been difficult to miss the quantity of sausages he inhaled. Was he planning on coming down?"

"He told me he was. He was working in the lab last I saw him." Neve pushed her fingers through her hair. It was getting longer again but she'd been hesitating about cutting it. "Let's get to it. There's no sense waiting."

Oghren made a congested snort that was sufficiently loud and vile enough to draw the gazes of all three of them before heaving up the blunted axe that stood propped against the side of the bench. "Come on, nughumpers. Who wants the first taste of ol' Oghren?" He looked pointedly at Janna, who rolled her eyes.

"Why don't you spar with Nathaniel while Janna and I warm up? Then we can trade off."

"Of course, Commander." Nathaniel carefully leaned his bow against the wall of the Keep and unbuckled his quiver, setting it down next to his bow.

Oghren paced up the side of the training yard, swinging his axe in an easy arc and humming a tune under his breath, something with incredibly filthy lyrics, no doubt. The rest of them made their way to the equipment rack in the far corner of the yard to select their own practice weapons; Neve and Nathaniel each chose a pair of blunted daggers, glancing at each other with a smile. Janna drew out a longsword, and picked up one of the wooden shields that had sat untouched from the crate of donated equipment that had arrived from Weisshaupt a few weeks earlier. They were nowhere near new, but still serviceable. The griffon that had been stenciled on the front, in what appeared to have once been dark blue ink, had faded into a ghost of its former glory amidst the other scratches and gouges that marred its surface.

Neve strolled over to the straw practice dummies and set her daggers down near the base of one while she stretched. Her muscles protested the motion at first, the minor aches and pains from their earlier battles still present as she slowly moved through the series of motions that Alistair had taught her. The fluid movement from one position to the next came without thinking now, as she tried to concentrate on nothing but the flow of her breath. Nathaniel and Oghren had started sparring on the far side of the training yard and Janna was limbering herself up in a similar fashion nearby, but Neve let the images and sounds float over her.

When she had finished her initial warm up, she began her second, with daggers in hand this time. Crouching before her practice dummy, she chose a target and feinted back, imagining the likely defense in her mind's eye as she whirled in with one arm up to block the imagined downward sweep of the dummy's forearm and she plunged a daggered hand into the pulse point at the base of the head where its neck should have been. Methodically, she cycled through them all—the ones she had learned on her own in the Alienage, the few Duncan had showed her and the rest that she had picked up from Leliana, Zevran, and Alistair over the long months on the road during the Blight. Sweat dripped down her forehead and into her eyes, the burn both uncomfortable and familiar. She grinned as she twisted to punch a dagger into the dummy's torso.

By the time she was satisfied, she was nearly out of breath, with sweat trickling in tiny rivulets under the various pieces of her armor. Janna was watching Oghren and Nathaniel, swinging her longsword through the air as she battled an imaginary opponent. "I'm ready when you are, Commander."

"Why don't we start? We'll let those two finish their bout before we trade off. First to three points?"

"Sure." Janna stepped back a few paces until they were a suitable distance apart.

Neve met her eyes and nodded, both of them bowing low to signal the start of the match. They circled each other warily at first; Janna was definitely going to be stronger than her, her frame accustomed to heavy armor, and likely quicker, too, as she was only in practice leathers today. But, she would be less accustomed to the lack of bulk, underestimating her amount of maneuverability to compensate for the armor that wasn't there. Janna lunged forward suddenly, pressing forward with her shield tucked in tight against her chest and her blade sweeping outward. Her degree of reach with her weapon was impressive, though not surprising, since she was nearly as tall as Nathaniel.

Neve feinted to the left and then dodged right, anticipating Janna's next move. The former guard's style was similar to Alistair's, and Neve fell easily into a familiar pattern that had been effective against him. Coming at Janna aggressively, Neve drove her backward, striking at points just beyond the top and bottom edges of her shield, forcing Janna to continually adjust her shield's position in order to compensate—top left, top left, bottom right. The moment when Janna relaxed slightly, her shield twitching over in anticipation of where the next blow would land, Neve leapt forward, the point of her blunted dagger touching the base of Janna's neck just above her collar bone.

"Point," Neve said, withdrawing the dagger.

Janna nodded in acknowledgement, only slightly out of breath. "Nice."

They both backed up and bowed again, Janna coming after her immediately with a broad sweep at her legs. Neve retreated then lunged forward as Janna's sword arm swung past her, darting in to jab her side before she could bring her arm back. "Two."

Janna nodded again, her brow furrowed in concentration. After a perfunctory bow, Neve waited, resting lightly on the balls of her feet, but Janna cautiously hung back this time. Neve taunted her, edging around the limits of her reach, forcing her to adjust her shield arm, but the former guard held her ground this time. She exploded in a burst of motion as Neve misjudged and crept in too close, using her shield to propel Neve onto her back in the dusty earth. The tip of her longsword grazed Neve's neck and she grinned before offering Neve a hand up. "One for me."

A short while later, Janna claimed her second point, and Neve attempted to wipe the sweat from her palms before the two of them bowed for the final time. Their bout over, Oghren and Nathaniel had sidled up to the side of the fence to watch and Neve had no doubt that coin would be changing hands shortly.

Neve danced forward cautiously, feinting and weaving as she waited for Janna to misstep and leave her an opening. She was breathing heavily now, but so was Janna, her cheeks flushed with exertion. Seeing the former guard's shield beginning to dip ever so slightly, Neve pressed forward, targeting alternating points on Janna's body, her eyes constantly flicking back to judge the level of fatigue in Janna's shield arm. With each careful arc of Janna's blade, Neve dodged and twisted away before shifting back. The impasse lasted for several minutes as Janna's shield dropped a fraction lower each time. When the gap in her defenses was large enough, Neve leapt in with an angled slash. Janna's sword connected with her side at the same time, and there was sudden burst of pain as her vision went white. She crumpled to the ground with a cry.

"Commander! Are you all right?" Janna dropped her sword and shield to the ground and kneeled down next to her.

After a few moments, the blurred faces huddled around her came back into focus. Her right side was a scorching blaze of agony as she struggled to sit up. "I'm okay."

"You could've fooled me." Oghren helped her up and they limped towards the benches, Janna and Nathaniel trailing behind. Neve sank down gratefully and leaned back against the shadowed wall of the Keep. The sharpness of the initial shock of pain was ebbing away, leaving a dull throb in its wake.

"What happened?" Janna asked. "My sword hit, but the blow was light."

Neve rubbed her side gently and winced. "It's the wound from the Archdemon. Wynne, one the mages that was traveling with us, healed it after the battle, but there was only so much that she could do. It's never been this sore, though."

Nathaniel offered her one of the waterskins that lay nearby. "It could be from the poisoning. Spider venoms often contain toxins that affect how the body feels pain."

"I hope it's not going to be like this permanently. Otherwise, I'm going to be a fucking liability out there."

"Could you modify your armor with a patch of hardened hide or some metal plating to provide you with some additional protection for your side?" Janna sat down and reached for one of the remaining waterskins. "There were a few guards in the palace who had to do something similar."

"Maybe." Neve shrugged. The pain had lessened considerably now. "I'm not sure who I would see about doing something like that."

Nathaniel smiled. "Well, Delilah and Albert have agreed to move to the Keep, so maybe you can ask them who they would recommend."

Neve turned to look at him. "That's great news! You must be thrilled!"

He nodded, almost shyly. "They should be here within the month, according to her letter. They wanted to get settled in before the baby is born."

"I'll talk to Varel to make sure we have suitable living quarters made available to them." Neve raised the waterskin and drank, stopping after the first mouthful with a puzzled expression before turning to glare at the dwarf. "Refresh my memory," she asked without shifting her gaze. "What is this called?" Neve held up the half-empty pouch.

"Is this some sort of trick question? Is it a dirty question?" Oghren leaned in.

"Do I even want to know why your  _water_ skin is full of ale?"

oOoOo

Alistair skimmed through the sheet of parchment—this one a petition from Lord Eddelbrek for more soldiers to patrol the farmlands of his freeholders—and slid it on top of the appropriate pile. The table was littered with individual stacks now, as there was little he could do aside from arranging it all into neat mounds of tasks all requiring Neve's input. He was more than a little surprised to see how well they were doing in terms of rebuilding the Keep. Bills for repairing and bolstering the Keep's outer walls had already been almost completely paid for, as well as much of the dry goods necessary to see the Keep's food stores well-stocked throughout the long winter months.

He picked up the next sheet from his rapidly dwindling pile. Only a few left to do. This one was folded over into thirds, and he flipped it over to break the wax seal that he could feel beneath his fingertips.

He froze.

Pressed into the firm puddle of red wax that held the parchment closed was the symbol of two griffons set back to back, each a mirror image of the other. Positioned in the center of their outstretched wings, just above their heads, was a small, five-pointed star. Alistair had only seen this symbol once before, on the letter that Duncan had received prior to the march of all Fereldan Wardens to Ostagar.

This was the First Warden's mark.

With hesitant fingers, and a flush of guilt that maybe he shouldn't be opening this, he cracked open the seal and began to read.

oOoOo

_8 Solace, 9:31 Dragon_

_Warden-Commander Tabris,_

_With regards to your last letter, I regret to inform you that the First Warden continues to find your answers unsatisfactory. We feel that we have been more than generous in providing aid to the Fereldan Order, and we sincerely hope to continue to be able to offer you further monetary support in the future. Unfortunately, your seeming unwillingness to cooperate with us in this matter leaves us little choice than to deal with things in a more direct manner. Warden Taralen and I will be en route to Vigil's Keep within the next few weeks and we look forward to meeting with you in person in order to satisfactorily resolve this issue._

_Respectfully yours,_

_Warden Connal, Second-in-Command, Weisshaupt_

oOoOo

A cold sense of dread settled in the pit of Alistair's stomach with enough weight that he sank down into his chair, the letter still clutched in his hand. They were going to find out what they had done, what  _he_  had done. Why hadn't Neve told him that Weisshaupt was asking questions? He leaned back against the back of the chair, rubbing a hand across his eyes.

_Because she's protecting you, you idiot._

It had been  _his_  choice to perform Morrigan's ritual, not hers, and she hadn't even known he'd done it until afterward, when she'd expected to die, but he'd taken that away from her, too. The one time he'd been brave enough to sit by her bed as she lay unconscious in the days after the battle, she'd opened her eyes ever so briefly—a flutter of eyelashes—and then she'd just given him that  _look_  before they'd drifted shut once more. She'd trusted him—they'd made the decision together—and, he'd betrayed her.

They'd agreed that Morrigan couldn't be trusted, especially after everything that had happened with Flemeth and retrieving her blasted grimoire… but, he just couldn't do it. He couldn't let her die. And now, she was going to bear the brunt of his weakness.

He smoothed the parchment out over his knee and read it again. There was nothing they could do now—the Wardens were likely on their way already. Neve had evidently not told them anything yet, but what if they had ways to compel her to talk against her will? What would they do when they learned the truth behind her survival?

They would pursue Morrigan and the child, that was certain. Not just any child,  _his_  child, a small voice in his mind interjected, causing a pang to sweep through him. His bastard, left alone to be raised by that witch… if it even was a child. What if it was some sort of monster, another Archdemon, gestating and ready to burst forth...? All the thoughts that he had tried so hard to push away and forget over the past seven months came back in a rush, like a battering ram to his gut.

Maker, what had he done?

**Author's Note:**

> This story uses the setting and some events from Awakening, but will not be following the Awakening story line. Neve's city elf origin is also non-canon. The entire story has been betaed by the lovely mackillian.


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